This morning I had porridge for brekkie. As I slid the oats into the boiling water, the aroma had me seated in my childhood kitchen eating breakfast with my father.

Dad always got me up for school, and we always had a proper breakfast. It was a sacred time, in the quiet of the early morning. We had a routine. My alarm would go off and dad would poke his head round the door. I’d grunt then ignore the alarm. Next thing I’d know, he’d shout up the stairs. I’d call back ‘coming’ as I leapt out of bed and threw on my clothes, hopping up and down on the heating grilles that didn’t do the best job of keeping our old, drafty house warm.

Getting up in the dark of winter often meant porridge – warming, and enveloping. If you’re a Brit of my generation, picture the Ready Brek ad. We were fussy about our porridge and dad would even make it from the long cook steel cut oats. It warmed me and gave me fuel, inside and out. There we’d be, cocooned in the cozy kitchen, spooning up our porridge and blinking sleepily at each other as we slowly woke up. Just as we found our groove, it was time for me to clean my teeth and head for the school bus.

These were magical times – full of love and safety and nurturing. I had a very happy childhood, yet had I been a different person it might not have felt that way. There were these types of magical, quiet breakfast moments yet then there was the side of my family that was loud with quite a bit of screaming and shouting and carrying on.

I always felt loved and secure – and felt that we all loved each other, yet disagreements weren’t discussed in a quiet, civilized way. They were addressed with raised voices and slammed doors that led to the lull between the storms. I’m naturally of a loud and dramatic nature myself, so I just weighed into the mayhem. If my character had been more retiring, I probably would have shut myself in my room and covered my ears with my hands or turned up the music. As it was, this way of addressing conflict seemed entirely natural to me and I didn’t question it.

It took me far too long to work out that although the sturm und drang acted like the safety valve on a pressure cooker, we were all too busy emoting at each other for anyone actually to listen. In the end, we got things off our chest but non-one felt heard and nothing really changed.

Realizing this was a huge aha moment, then came the fun and games of trying to develop a more constructive method of communication. That was a mixed bag until I discovered yoga.

• The quiet and space of yoga on and off the mat
  help me regain my equilibrium, as I’m quite excitable by nature.
• This sets me up to go deeper into my yoga to understand better why I felt aggrieved or unhappy.
• I can then move into the right frame of mind to articulate my point of view in a clear way that is curious and non-accusatory as well so that I’m open to other points of view.

That’s the ideal anyway – sometimes it even happens and sometimes there are times when I’m persuaded of another point of view. Then there are the surprisingly wonderful moments all find we’re not at odds after all – we’re actually doing the same yoga pose, just a different variation.