Why going to bed angry is an underestimated response to marital woes

Myself and my husband once made a pact to never go to sleep angry.

No matter how blazing the row or how frayed the nerves, we both believed it was important to hash out the issue before turning in for the night.

Dragging rebukes and recriminations into the next day was a receipe for disaster, we told each other, as the ill will slowly festers and both parties find further issue with one another.

“Sort it, draw a line under it and forget it” has been an approach which has seen us through some of the most difficult times in our relationship, but lately I realise I'm not as on board with this approach as I once was.

Maybe it's the ageing process, but I no longer have the inclination to waste hours of precious sleep-time going around and around in circles until exhaustion forces both parties to agree to drop it just to get a half decent kip.

Sometimes my husband is plain wrong, and I shouldn't have to waste time mollycoddling him into understanding why.

Sometimes I'm a complete idiot, and he shouldn't have to take my hand and lead me every step of the way until I finally realise why.

If I hit the roof because the contents of the dishwasher look like swamp trash after I repeatedly asked for it to be turned on once full, there's not much more to say, is there?

I made a request, he didn't honour the agreement and I am angered by this.

Do I really need to hear a long list of excuses?

Do I really need to explain where my anger stems from?

Do I really need to hear how he felt when I raised my voice about it?

And if he loses the head because I yet again washed a 'dryclean-only' shirt after approximately 60 reminders not to, he shouldn't have to explain his anger.

He shouldn't have to hear me whinge that I was listening to Netflix in the background and wasn't paying attention.

And he definitely shouldn't have to make me feel better because I got a fright when his anguished wails reverbrated through the house.

And yet for years and years we did this.

Heavy eyelids, endless patience masking inner panic about the hour and a smug assumption we were doing this whole marriage thing right.

We acted like each other's carers, speaking in soothing tones as we gently argued our points.

But no more.

With two children, two full-time jobs and two people who can't tend to domestic duties without raising the heckles of our significant other, we have decided there just isn't enough time in the day for our old approach.

He can call me an idiot, I can call him an idiot and we can simply move on can simply move on, mildy irritated until the next day, before getting back to normal without the help of endless nocturnal therapy sessions.

Bliss.