Holiday black and blues

For the last few years, family holidays have been fraught situations. Take us, as a family, out of our usual territory, increase the time we have to spend with each other, and the cracks start to show.

So when my Wife and I successfully managed to book a holiday together, hope was surely high that this might be the summer holiday that broke the mould.

Before we left home, I resolved to be the grown up – to swallow pride – to make the effort – to be patient and generous and all the other stuff that functional partners and parents do.
We hadn’t even got to the airport boarding gate before my resolve was tested. And in playing nicely, giving the benefit of the doubt (as I am supposed to do), I found myself acquiescing (which I’m supposed to not do).

The first couple of days away from home went OK. But as the holiday progressed, friction turned to dysfunction. I could try to deconstruct it, but to do so in a justified manner would require a degree of objectivity to which I cannot justifiably lay claim. And whilst it was not Our most fractious of family holidays, it was brutally evident that underlying issues persist.

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