When No One's Asking; When No One's Looking.

The Space That Never Heals

I don't know what to do about the tension that fills the air whenever my parents are together.

For as long as I can remember, even now in my twenties, I’ve wondered: should I step into their misunderstandings and fights? Would my involvement ease the strain, or would it only make things worse?

I’ve tried it all—being aggressive, factual, emotional, soft. But no matter which route I took, the result was the same. The tension stayed. Sometimes it even escalated.

Would things have been different if my mom had learned to think before she spoke? To avoid careless remarks or doubts that only triggered needless lectures? Or if my dad could control his tone—speak without making every word sound like a personal attack?

Over time, I’ve realized something: they can’t change. Or maybe they don’t know how. Maybe they aren’t even aware of the damage their words and actions cause.

But as their child, I’m stuck. Torn between staying silent and speaking up.

Silence feels like complicity, but speaking up feels useless.

Is this my life now? Is this the dynamic I’m doomed to endure for the rest of my days? I can’t see an end to it.

The tension is suffocating. Haunting. It wraps around me, heavy and nauseating.

And yet, I can’t just stand still.