For a long time, I thought the way I grew up was normal.
Not happy, exactly. Not peaceful. Just normal.
I assumed every family had unpredictable moods, and nights when everyone quietly tried to stay out of the way. I thought every kid learned how to read a room before speaking, how to recognize danger from the sound of a door opening, and how to tell what kind of evening it was going to be before anyone said a word.
It took me years to realize that other homes did not feel like that.
This blog is about growing up around chaos, instability, and behavior that was often difficult to understand. It is about the strange stories, the frightening moments, the absurd situations, and the long stretches of silence that came afterward.
I am writing anonymously because the details are personal, and because this is not really about exposing anyone. It is about telling the truth of what it felt like to live through it.
Some of these stories are painful. Some are uncomfortable. Some are so bizarre that they almost sound funny when told years later. Most of them are a mixture of all three.
I started The Quiet Between Outbursts because I wanted somewhere to put these memories. For years, I kept them separate, minimized them, or told them like isolated anecdotes. Writing them down is a way of seeing the larger picture, what happened, how it shaped me, and what parts of it I am still carrying.
For a long time, the quiet between outbursts was the closest thing we had to peace.
This is what I remember from inside it.