The Quiet War

Let’s talk about the quiet war that lives in most relationships: communication. Or more specifically, the wreckage of what used to be communication. Because, let’s be honest, most of what couples call "talking" is more like tactical maneuvering. Side-stepping. Deflecting. Swallowing truth whole and smiling through gritted teeth.

It's a fragile dance built over years—one partner trying not to explode, the other trying not to implode. And somewhere in between: silence, sarcasm, passive-aggressive sighs, and the occasional "I'm fine" said with the emotional weight of a wrecking ball.

I see it all the time. Two people who once shared everything now sit across from each other on the therapy couch and can barely make eye contact without setting off the whole emotional sprinkler system. They don't know how they got here. They just know they can't talk anymore. Or if they can, it’s like speaking through static, each word warped by years of pain, assumptions, and emotional landmines.

Here’s the thing: conflict is not the enemy. Avoidance is. The inability to say hard things because you’re scared of what might happen if you do. The years spent training yourself to smile through the hurt, to redirect every uncomfortable moment into a safe, numb silence. That silence? That’s not peace. It’s stagnation. It’s resentment with a pretty Instagram filter on it.

Conflict, when done right, is intimacy. It's choosing to show your rawest self, not the polished version. It says: I care enough about this relationship to tell you the truth, even if it’s messy. Especially if it's messy. But to get there? We have to unlearn decades of bad habits.

And let’s be honest—most of us were never taught how to do this.

Our parents didn't model it (or they modeled screaming matches and icy cold shoulders). Schools sure as hell didn’t teach us. Culture romanticizes miscommunication, celebrates the grand gesture that fixes everything in the last 10 minutes of a rom-com. But that’s not how repair happens. Not in real life. In real life, communication is ugly. It’s vulnerable. It requires the courage to say, “I’m not okay,” and the maturity to respond with, “Tell me more,” instead of, “What now?”

One of the simplest, most powerful tools I use with couples in therapy is something that looks almost laughably basic. I call it the One Minute Exercise. Because, you guessed it, it takes one minute. But the fallout? The revelation? The mirror it holds up? That can last years.

Here’s how it works:

• Each person gets 60 seconds to say what they want. Not what they think their partner should do. Not a passive-aggressive dig cloaked in a fake compliment. Just: what they want. Plain. Honest. Real.

• "I want to feel like I matter to you.""I want more time together without screens.""I want to be able to say when I’m sad without you fixing it."

• Then, the partner has one job: to repeat back exactly what they heard. Not interpret it. Not rebut it. Not give a TED Talk in response. Just mirror it back.

Simple? Sure. Easy? Not even close. Because here’s what happens. People screw it up. Constantly. Not because they’re dumb, but because they’re human. They listen through filters built over decades. Filters made of old pain, assumptions, childhood coping strategies, and every fight they've ever had.

So when one partner says, "I want to feel like I matter," what the other hears is: "You're not doing enough," or "You're a failure." And they respond with defensiveness, or shame, or worse—they shut down completely.

This exercise doesn’t just reveal miscommunication. It exposes the architecture of your relationship. It shows you the gears behind the clock face. It highlights just how hard it is to actually listen, instead of bracing for impact.

I’ve watched couples who’ve been together twenty years fumble this like it’s a foreign language. And in some ways, it is. Because for many of us, real communication feels alien. It’s not efficient. It’s not tidy. It doesn’t guarantee agreement or closure. But it does guarantee that something real was shared.

Let me be clear: this isn’t a magic fix. It won’t transform your partner into a mind-reader or delete years of buried resentment. But it is a place to start. A place to remember that communication isn’t about being right—it’s about being understood.

And if you're reading this thinking, "Yeah, we could probably do that ourselves," I have to stop you right there. You could. But chances are, you won’t. Not correctly. Not consistently. Because the moment things get uncomfortable, most people revert to what they know: silence, sarcasm, stonewalling, or steamrolling.

That’s why therapy exists. Not because you’re broken, but because this is hard. Because being human with another human—day in, day out—is one of the most complex, layered, soul-splitting things you can do. It’s no wonder so many relationships feel like battlegrounds covered in velvet.

In therapy, we slow it all down. We shine light into those dark, cluttered corners of your relationship. We unpack the history that lives in every argument, every eye-roll, every withdrawal. We explore why hearing "I need more from you" sends you into panic mode. We get curious, not critical.

And yes, sometimes it hurts. Sometimes people cry. Sometimes they yell. But more often than not, there’s this moment—small, but seismic—where someone feels heard. Really, truly heard. And that? That changes things.

So if your relationship feels stuck, stale, or like every conversation turns into a rerun of the same argument with different props—you’re not alone. You’re not doomed. You’re just overdue for a new way of relating. One that invites honesty, not just harmony.

Start with one minute. Just one. But if you want to go deeper? If you want to unlearn the armour and rebuild the bridge? That takes more than a minute. It takes therapy. The real kind. The kind where we don’t sugarcoat, but we also don’t shame. Where discomfort is part of the deal, but so is transformation.

I won’t promise it’ll be easy. But I will promise this: you won’t be doing it alone. And that’s more than most couples have right now.

Want to know if therapy can help your relationship? I offer sessions for couples who are done with the surface-level stuff and ready to dig into the real work. If that’s you, get in touch. You bring the willingness. I’ll bring the honesty.

Let’s talk.