By Marije Roos
I live in what some would call an unusual constellation. I share a home with my children and their father. We’re no longer partners, yet we co-parent and live together. And we are best friends. For the last six summers, we’ve also gone on holiday together — with my current partner joining us.
Often people ask us how we manage to still live together. Some assume it must be because of the housing market in Amsterdam. Others judge us — saying one of us can’t let go, or that we’re not truly independent. And maybe there’s a grain of truth in that. We are still very much dependent on each other, especially in sharing the care of our children.
But what matters more to me is this: we actually like it this way. We consciously choose it, because it allows us to spend time together as a family, be with the kids most of the time, and also have ease in creating space for ourselves.
To the question how do we make it work the short answer, for me, is: NVC.
Nonviolent Communication helps us navigate caring for everybody’s needs — during the painful process of breaking up, while finding a new way of relating, and still today, every day we live together. One of the most helpful reminders for me is to take responsibility for my own feelings and needs, instead of blaming, judging, or trying to change the other.
It helps me remember: No one can “make me feel” anything – only my needs can!
Here is a recent challenge we’ve faced:
When I’m with the father of my children, he usually shares things with me. But when my partner is also there, he suddenly starts sharing with him instead. And it works the other way around too: habitually my partner gives me lots of attention (which I love), but when the father of my children is present, they talk to each other instead. Often about things I can’t connect to — cars, computers, and other technical stuff.
I very much celebrate their friendship. I also understand they both want to include the other, as I have a close connection with both of them. And… At the same time, I noticed something else: I felt alone. Especially with the kids also present — as they mostly focus on me — I ended up caring for the kids while they were having a good time together.
My habit here is to withdraw. To blame silently: “They’re ignoring me”.
And to enter into rejection stories: “They don’t care about me. They don’t like to spend time with me.”
I noticed myself going into inner lockdown — feeling angry, hurt, and lonely. So I asked myself: What do I actually long for? The answer was clear: connection. Inclusion. And, even more vulnerable, I long to receive attention.
It felt so tragic to see how I was distancing myself while what I actually wanted was closeness and care.
So instead of falling into my habit of waiting for them to guess, or punishing them by withdrawing, I said out loud: “When you talk with each other about cars, I feel alone. I notice I’m withdrawing, while I actually long to connect. I miss receiving attention. Are you open to hear a bit more of what’s going on for me?”
We had a beautiful dialogue. I felt heard and understood. I checked with my ex-partner: is it painful for him when I hug my partner? It turned out it wasn’t — and just asking opened new space between us.
Now, when I want to join the conversation, I can “simply” say: I want to be included too — shall we talk about something we all enjoy?
For me, it takes a huge step to open up so vulnerably, while my whole body wants to shut down, drown in my rejection stories, and protect me from more hurt — while what I actually long for is connection.
My pain and all my feelings are signals, pointing me to what is important to me — they’re not enemies to get rid of, but signals to listen to.
When I voice my needs, express my vulnerability, and dare to ask for what I want, something shifts — and very often, everyone benefits.
It sounds simple. But I don’t find it easy.
With much trust in vulnerability and listening to my feelings,
Marije