I’d been stewing with anger for months. Every little thing she did amplified more in my mind. If she coughed, she coughed too loudly, if she spoke, then she must be badmouthing me. My existence was limited to a handful of square footage that wasn’t even my own. My sanity crumbled, my marriage strained, I became increasingly unhappy and stressed by the minute. I felt that I was drowning more and more each day.
I live with my brother and his wife. In any situation living with another adult is hard enough but living with a Davidson can be trying in itself (although, I do strongly believe that it’s the pairing of both my father’s Davidson and my mother’s Gillies that makes my brother and I tick in the ways that we do). My brother and I have always been close. Growing up we were each other’s occasional best friend and constant companion. My brother is the one person who I know I’ll always be okay with. No matter how hard things get, in our adulthood our relationship has blossomed into one that is deeply rooted in our days of playing Atari and Nintendo, Rambo and Barbies, Laser Tag and Teddy Ruxpin. When my husband and I decided to move back to our hometown area last year I knew that my brother, who had more than enough space to accommodate us, would welcome us in without question. The three of us fell into a routine that required little discussion and just seemed to work. My brother and I are cut from the same cloth but are also quite different and so while I didn’t think that living together would be a big deal, I also was not thinking about the likely eventuality of what that dynamic would become when his wife and children moved back home. Read the rest of this entry »