By Yvonne

The other day, I asked my son: “Didn’t you already ask Daddy? He said you could do it. Why are you asking me again?”

He lowered his head and quietly said:

“Ich habe Angst, dass du dann sagst, es ist doch nicht erlaubt. (I’m afraid that you’ll say it’s actually not allowed)”

My heart tightened in that moment.

Growing up in a family between two cultures, my child has learned to double-check everything—afraid of doing something wrong, afraid of being told no.

Not because we’re strict, but because Mama and Papa often have different standards. What’s okay for one of us might not be for the other.

When I express disapproval gently, Papa might think I’m being “too sensitive.”

These subtle differences, the unspoken tensions—we may not always notice them, but our child absorbs them deeply.

And they make him cautious. Sometimes, too cautious.

My Husband and I – We Speak Different Languages of Love

My husband is German. I was raised with a completely different communication culture.

He’s direct, logical, solution-focused. I’m emotional, more attuned to what’s left unsaid, and I wish for feelings to be heard first.

When our child gets sick, I immediately become anxious. I want to drop everything to stay by his side.

My husband stays calm: “It’s just a mild fever—38 degrees. Nothing serious.” And he goes jogging.

What feels like maturity and composure to him, feels like emotional distance to me.

What feels like care and love to me, seems like overreaction to him.

And somewhere in between stands our child—trying to navigate both languages.

Between the Languages – What Children Really See

At home, we speak three languages: Chinese, German, and English.

None of them is truly our shared emotional language.

We often default to the “most practical” one—not necessarily the most heartfelt one.

And when we misunderstand each other, fall silent or argue, our child sees it—even without understanding the words.

He senses the tension. He watches our faces, listens to our voices and tones.

Often, he tries to guide us back into a friendly conversation—as if he’s taken on the role of emotional mediator.

That’s when I realize how much he takes in, how sensitive and alert he is, and how much he longs for harmony—not just in words, but in the feeling of home.

Is Communication Easier in Same-Culture Marriages?

A friend of mine is married to someone from her hometown. She often says, “We hardly need to explain things. One look, and I know what he’s thinking.”

They share many unspoken agreements:

How to raise children.

When the grandparents should help.

Whether phones belong at the dinner table.

We don’t have those.

We have to explain everything:

Why my mother insists that our child drink warm water, never cold.

Why I think we should ask our son “What do you think?” more often instead of saying “You should…”

It’s tiring.

But in that effort, we’ve learned to express what we really mean—clearly and respectfully.

We don’t have automatic understandings. We have to build our family culture from scratch.

And in that, there is a quiet strength.

What I Want to Give My Child: Gentle, Steady Presence

I’m planning to create a small ritual in our family: a “feelings time” after dinner.

Each of us will take turns sharing something that made us happy or upset that day.

No judgment. No corrections.

I want our son to feel that emotions are okay.

That they don’t need to be hidden.

That Mama and Papa come from different worlds, but we’re trying—again and again—to understand each other.

That we don’t give up. Not on each other. And not on him.

That’s the gift I want to give him:

Gentle.

Honest.

And full of patience.

Final Thought:

In an international marriage, communication isn’t something to take for granted.

It takes effort.

But precisely because it’s harder, it can bring us closer.

And our child will learn something deeply valuable:

Love is not a fixed image—it is the choice to keep trying to understand one another.

夹在两种文化之间：在国际婚姻中学会沟通，也是为孩子铺路

前几天，我问儿子：“这件事你不是已经问过爸爸了吗？他说可以做啊，怎么又来问我？”

他低着头，小声说：“Ich habe Angst, dass du dann sagst, es ist doch nicht erlaubt.”

（我害怕你会说，其实是不可以的。）

那一刻，我心里一紧。

在这个夹在两种文化之间的家庭里，他学会了小心翼翼地确认每一件事，生怕做错、生怕被否定。不是因为我们凶，而是因为我们之间有太多“不一样”的标准——爸爸说可以的，妈妈可能不可以；妈妈温柔地表达不满，爸爸也许会觉得“太敏感”。

我们之间那些未对齐的标准和沟通方式，不知不觉中成了孩子内心的迷宫。他，成了那个在迷宫中反复确认出口的小小探索者。

我和丈夫，说的其实是不同的“爱”

我的丈夫是德国人，我们一个习惯直接表达，一个习惯揣摩心意；一个讲求“问题导向”，一个更在意“情绪有没有被看见”。

比如，孩子生病时，我会习惯性地紧张、焦虑，恨不得马上请假陪在他身边。而丈夫会说：“他发烧才38度，不严重。”甚至还去跑步。

每次这种“冷静”对上我的“情绪化”，我们就会陷入一场冷战。后来我才明白，在他的文化中，保持镇定是成熟、理性的体现。而在我成长的环境里，表达担心和陪伴，是爱的表现。

我们都爱孩子，却以完全不同的方式在表达。这种差异，在不经意间，成了孩子反复确认“安全感”的理由。

在语言之间，孩子在观察什么？

我们的日常沟通，常常是在英语、中文和德语之间来回穿梭。我们用的语言虽然能传达信息，却不总能承载情绪。很多时候，说着说着就陷入误解，不欢而散。

而这些沉默、争执、回避，对孩子来说，从来不是“听不懂”的事。他会看我们的表情、语气，感受到气氛的变化。他会试着把我们拉回一个“正常”的对话状态，有时甚至会插话调节气氛。

他从小就在学习一种能力：如何在不同语言之间找到“家庭的共同语”。

同国籍婚姻，真的更容易沟通吗？

我有位朋友，和她先生都来自同一个城市，甚至是同一所大学。她常说：“我们从来不用多解释，他一皱眉我就知道他在想什么。”他们之间有太多的“默认共识”：如何管教孩子，老人要不要帮忙，饭桌上能不能滑手机。

而我们，没有这些“共识”。我们需要一遍遍解释“为什么我妈总要让孩子喝温水、不能喝冰的”，“为什么我希望你能在孩子面前少讲‘你应该’而多问‘你觉得’”。

是的，累。

但也因为这些沟通，我们不得不更清楚自己在想什么、更尊重彼此的立场。我们没有“默认”的安全区，只能一步步地，努力建立属于我们自己的家庭文化。

我想给孩子的，是一种温柔而坚定的陪伴

我计划在我们的日常生活中，设立一个小小的“感受时间”。每晚吃饭后，我们轮流说：“今天我开心/不开心的事。”让他知道，情绪不需要被藏起来，也不必被评判。

我希望他知道，每个人的感受都值得被听见。

我也想让他看到，爸爸妈妈虽然来自不同的国家，但我们愿意不断努力去理解对方，不放弃沟通，也不逃避冲突。

这，就是我想给他的，一份温柔却坚定的成长礼物。

结语：

国际婚姻中，沟通并不是理所当然的事，但正因为它不容易，我们更懂得珍惜每一次彼此靠近的尝试。而我们的孩子，也会从中学到，爱不是一种固定的样子，而是一种愿意理解对方的决心。