How Growing Up with Divorce and Facing Burnout Inspired My Passion for Communication Coaching
When I was seven or eight, my parents separated for the first time. They’d been fighting a lot leading up to it. My dad moved out of our house and into someone else’s furnished home, in a town a few miles away. My sister and I would go visit on weekends and Wednesday nights—if my memory serves me correctly. I can still remember vague details of that house, though nothing stands out clearly. I have a general sense of where it was in town, but it’s fuzzy, and I feel unsure. I recall a slated closet door, behind it a treasure trove of board games—though I couldn’t tell you which games or even where the door was located. There was also something about a red vintage honda motorcycle—maybe it was a picture hanging on the wall, the shape of a clock, or just a figurine sitting on a shelf? And the smell—it was almost woody, or was it musty? I can’t quite put my finger on what it was, but I can faintly sense it when I think back to that time. As for my feelings about the house or my parents’ separation—I don’t remember much at all.
Six months later, my parents decided to reconcile. They didn’t want to give up on their marriage, their life, or the family they had built — but they didn’t exactly fight for it either. In fact, it felt like they’d simply given up. Again, my memory is a bit hazy from this time, but I don’t recall anymore fighting. What I do remember is the silence that settled between them. They became ships in the night, and that avoidance only bred more discontent. Five years later, they sat me down on the couch and told me they were separating, for good this time. They made it clear that it wasn't my sisters or my fault, they just never learned to ‘fight right’ with one another and they couldn’t keep ignoring that their relationship wasn’t working for any of us anymore.
My response was, “Oh good, I thought I was in trouble!” Both true and a defense mechanism - an attempt to cut the tension with humor. After they left the room, I went and hid in the basement, called a friend whose parents had already divorced, and cried. She consoled me, telling me all the benefits of having divorced parents—two of everything, the ability to “switch teams” when you were in trouble, and the possibility that both parents might be happier.
The road to their divorce spanned another four years, filled with disagreements that, at times, felt like I was stuck in the middle of. But overall, it didn’t negatively impact me. My friend was right about her predictions, and I even ended up feeling lucky in a way because I built closer, individual relationships with each parent. They prioritized co-parenting, often communicating with one another - much more than many of my other friends’ divorced parents. Once the divorce papers were signed, they seemed to reconnect on a different level. We even took a family trip a few days after to visit my sister where she was studying abroad. It was like they became friends again, their mutual respect renewed.
Now, 21 (or 17, depending on whether you count from the second separation or the final divorce) years later, they talk to each other more than they talk to me. They say kind things about one another and show up for each other when it matters. They’re both happy for the other — and I’m happy for them, too.
But here’s the thing: I never did get to learn what healthy relational conflict looked like and I definitely didn’t ‘fight right’. Growing up, only seeing defensiveness and escalation, or the opposite—biting your tongue until blood was spilling out your mouth, didn’t give me the tools to express my feelings, frustrations, needs, or desires well. I tend to be on the more inflammatory side of the spectrum when fighting with my loved ones. As a big feeler, my fight-or-flight response kicks in hard and strong during conflict, and my animal brain takes over. I tend to be defensive, righteous, blaming, sometimes yelly and at my worst—kind of vicious. Needless to say, I’ve had my fair share of moments where little things turned into big arguments, leaving me ruminating, hurting, and scrambling to clean up the mess afterward.
Despite all this, for reasons I can’t quite explain, I’ve always been the person that friends — and not infrequently, strangers — turn to for relationship support. One of my fondest memories of learning that I was a safe space for others for this very thing came when I was 19, working as a camp counselor in Maine. A camper from another bunk sought me out one night because she’d had her first kiss and felt “weird” about it. After we had talked it through and she felt more clarity and comfort, I asked why she hadn’t gone to one of her own counselors. Her response will stick with me forever: “I didn’t feel like they’d listen to me like you would, and I kind of thought they might be mad at me for it.”
At the time, I was a student in university, studying none other than communications and psychology — and I totally geeked out over it. My favorite courses were indeed about romantic relationships, family dynamics, and sex education. I even planned to get my masters degree in marriage and family therapy after undergrad, because I wanted to help people build strong relationships — and because I was fascinated by how they worked.
But I chickened out from grad school. I told myself I’d take a year or two to think about it and instead headed down a different path, ending up in client management roles in the corporate world. For a while, everything was fine—until it wasn’t. Between 2020 and 2022, something changed and it all became too much. I spent those two years pushing work issues under the rug, accepting more responsibility, and pretending everything was fine. But it wasn’t. I was suffering although I couldn’t admit it. I don’t even think I realized it. I kept going, ignoring my emotional and physical boundaries, ignoring warnings from doctors and loved ones, until, not surprisingly, I experienced a severe burnout. I had to leave a job I loved because it had become deeply unhealthy - mentally and physically - for me.
Much like my parents’ divorce though, this "divorce," although difficult at first, ended up offering me a chance to be happier. Over time my health restored as I rebuilt my relationship with my mind and body.
During this returning home to self, something amazing happened. An opportunity surfaced to train as a communication coach - to help individuals and couples create more effective connection, navigate conflict with more ease, and build secure attachment.
I was both incredibly excited and terrified. You see, during my burnout, my nervous system was a mess, and my feelings were amplified. I was more irritable with my partner and quick to anger and fight. Although my general moodiness had improved a lot since my body was no longer in chronic fight-or-flight mode, I wasn’t exactly cool as a cucumber when faced with conflict. I thought to myself, I’m certainly no example of healthy communication. But my husband, both aware of his own limitations in conflict and reassuring me that I wasn’t a monster, suggested we try going through the coaching together first.
He and I had actually talked many times prior about going to couples therapy — not because anything was necessarily broken, but because a friend once told us, “You invest in your education, your home, your car, and your health—why wouldn’t you invest in your marriage?” She added further, “You fill up your gas tank or change the oil in your car proactively so that it doesn’t break down on the side of the road. Consider couples counseling the same thing, a way to proactively address issues and extend your mileage."
Unfortunately, couples therapy is expensive, y’all! Deterred by the €250/hour price tags of the therapists with availability, the more affordable therapists usually fully booked, we couldn’t quite bring ourselves to commit to it. So although we agreed in theory with what our friend suggested, we never did put our money where our mouths were, telling ourselves that it was too big of an expense given that we weren’t in crisis.
But now, I had two opportunities in front of me: one to improve my own relationship and one to help others improve theirs. The coaching cost was reasonable, and we appreciated that the program would be providing us with tools to improve communication and manage conflict in our daily lives. We were willing to give it a try.
From the very first session, we noticed improvements in our communication. As we continued, escalations more quickly deescalated as we now had tools to actually listen to each other. And although our conflict can still feel a bit clunky at times, it’s minimal and it keeps getting easier to get through and recover from.
We really appreciated the structure and accountability the sessions provided and having a third-party perspective helped us see things from a new angle, allowing us to more easily identify patterns and learn to break them. With the coach’s support, we’ve become a better team. We have so much more of all the good things now: patience with each other, appreciation for the little things, compassion during conflict, empathy for one another's needs, and tools to build better habits at home.
I’ve even started using some of the tools in my other relationships — friends, family — you name it. They don’t realize I’m doing it, but conversations are smoother, and I feel more present. My 3 week family-packed holiday visit went down with barely a hitch and the love between us feels stronger than ever. And as the unofficial “relationship therapist” among my friends, my skills are better than ever. Recently, I was able to help a friend repair after a major conflict with their partner, guided another through a difficult conversation with hers, supported someone in articulating their needs in a friendship, and helped another set boundaries with a parent ahead of the holidays.
What I know to be true is that conflict is inevitable in any relationship, but it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. You can learn to ‘fight right’ and ultimately come out on the other side feeling a greater sense of connection.
Confident that the process works, and after months of training, I’m thrilled to announce that I’ve joined Helping the Heard as a communication coach. I’m so excited to help others build safe and healthy relationships—and equally grateful to continue improving my own.