After a rough season, my husband and I could turn any small thing into a three-day cold war. What saved us was almost embarrassingly small: a pause. Whoever felt the sting would say, give me a minute, and leave the room. Ten breaths. Then come back and start with I feel instead of you always. Half the time the issue evaporated in the pause, because it was never about the dishes. Eight months in, we argue less, repair faster, and trust each other with our worst moods again. Patience did not come naturally. We chose it daily until it became the culture of our house.
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