My family does anger pretty well. Pete's family... not so much.
Pete swears that his parents never fought in front of him. Let's just say, I remember enough family fights to channel a variety of people when I'm fighting.
There's a line in Jerry Maguire where Jerry and Rod Tidwell are talking (loudly). Jerry starts to walk away and Rod says, "See Jerry, you think we're fighting and I think we're finally talking." That sums up my belief on yelling.
It's not just about yelling though or being angry. I run fairly hot. When I walk into a room, I've got a story to tell. I get excited. I use the word fabulous... a lot. I have a large personality. (I don't normally say this out loud but what the heck... I sometimes dream of being a one named person like Madonna, Bono, or Cher.) When Pete and I were dating, my mother told my grandmother that Pete had a wonderfully peaceful personality, he was a calming presence. My grandmother responded with, "well that's a good thing, because sometimes you gotta scrape Beth off the walls."
That's what I mean when I say that I "run hot." Pete, on the other hand, does not.
Yesterday I climbed the walls as I considered the many things happening around me:
- I had a funeral and some extra emotions buzzing around that.
- I'm nervous about a new drug that Pete is on.
- Our kids went on a date and we babysat (which was fun) but then I wanted to go on a date myself (begin pity party.)
- I'm tired of going grocery shopping and cooking and doing dishes.
- Doesn't Pete see that the laundry needs to be done?
- There are a few people at church that need my attention and I haven't the emotional capacity this week.
- I needed a haircut, which was constant proof that I don't have time to take care of myself.
- I tried to pull together a family dinner but we couldn't settle on a night of the week, which made me wonder why I'm the only one trying to pull together a family dinner, (enter second pity party.)
- It's hot outside... It's been hot for three weeks. Our air conditioner has been on for months. No one is going outside. I haven't walked and so my normal stress level is simply rising with the temperature.
- When it's hot outside, Pete hibernates. It's the nature of chronic illness. (You know when they say that the elderly and those who are ill should stay inside? Well, I'm married to one in that category.) I'm getting batty from being in my house.
- I bought a new kind of coffee and I don't like it.
- New books arrived. They sit on the table as a reminder that while I used to be an avid reader, my attention span has dwindled making the last book I read in its entirety, "Good Night Moon."
The saddest part of this list is that I could keep going. And so could everyone I suppose. On any given day, little things irritate us. And I don't care how many books they write about not "sweating the small stuff," we all sweat the small stuff. Life is made of small stuff!
The other day our granddaughter was fussy and we had this interesting conversation about the concept of fussiness. Dan said, "if you think about it, how many times a day do you complain or moan about small stuff? She doesn't have words, so her fussiness is probably her just saying, it's hot, or I don't want to do that anymore, where's my book, how come I can't find the pink ball?" That was tremendously healing to me! Even before we have words, we sweat the small stuff. Fussiness is a natural human response.
As grown ups of course, we don't moan or grunt. We have words and w use indoor voices. But I find that indoor voices simply don't express the emotions that come with a pile of small stuff. I like outside voices.
And I use my outside voice with Pete more than I like to admit. I do this to Pete because he loves m the most.
But then afterward I live with this horrible shame that always begins with the question, "who yells at a sick person?" There are other questions of course, "why do we hurt the people we love the most?" "Do I need more therapy?" "What is all this yelling really about?"
But those questions come after I've crawled the walls. I'm perched in a corner like a spider weaving a web of all the irritating things in my life, streaming acidic words all the while wishing someone would help me down from here.
Sometimes I call a friend from my acidic perch where my world is laid before me in clear view. (The kind of clear view I get when I am the only person that matters and my view is the only view and my thoughts alone make sense.) And from my perch, I ask my friend in a sort of crazed voice, "Please help me down from here." She asks me questions, "How'd you get there?" "What do you see?" And right about the time where I almost imagine I could begin to climb down, I think to myself... am I sure I want to go down there where all of that stuff is happening to my world? Up here, I'm free. And so I ask her, "rather than me come down, would you like to come up? They're serving Mai Tais up here."
She persists like a good friend, continuing to listen to the small things that have served as my grab bars and footers that helped me climb the wall.
When I come down I'm left with the list of small, irritating things, minus some of the emotional content. Is there anything on the list that I can actually do something about? Sure, I could get a haircut. So I did. I started reading one of the books - it's pretty good and so far it's keeping my attention.
But there's some other things on the list that a mature person would tell others about. So, I told Pete that I'd really like to go on a date. (It makes me a little crazy that I have to ask for stuff like that... but it's good to not expect others to read my mind.)
Anger is not a bad thing. Being passionate about the people you love or experiencing stress when relationships are not going as you wish is a needed component in growth. After five years of growth this side of chronic illness, I'm sure that I'm not done climbing the walls and I hope my family and friends continue to help me down when needed.
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