Life has been very intense and stressful lately; not the type of stress that keeps me on my toes and moving forward, but the kind of stress that is slowly killing me. I feel like I’ve been sharing my space with a live grenade, forced to hold tightly onto the spoon to keep it from exploding. That’s how life has felt.
And, as with anything one exerts for an extended period of time, the longer I have to hold the spoon, the more my arms shake and the harder it gets to control my grip. That’s how I’ve been feeling.
Today’s vignette is about feeling aggressively. Driving my son home from his coaching job today, I asked if he and his buddies settled on a movie and time. They hadn’t. So, I suggested he choose the movie and the time, earlier the better for me. Upon making his decision, “The Fantasic Four” at 6pm, one friend texted back, “Can I get a ride from someone?”
The other friend, not offering his parents, texts, “Ask Brayden’s mom.”
But, why? When this friend lives on the same side of town as the first friend?!? Why suggest the mom, the solo mama with one vehicle, drive all the way across town, past the movie theater, to give this friend a ride, when the one suggesting he ask me has to drive past the other friend’s house!
For, perhaps the first time, my son responded with, “Why can’t you give him a ride?”, without me having to say anything. Which, I am truly grateful for, and I thanked him for saying it!
However, I felt so taken aback and taken for granted, that I spoke my emotions…maybe a little too aggressively. But, since I’m literally the only parent of this friend group who has taken the boys to sporting events and the beach and hosted multiple sleepovers, providing the food and snacks and, often times, the transportation, my feelings are valid.
So, I spoke up. And, unfortunately, my son took it as an attack on his friend and, most likely, on himself. Which neither were my intention.
After a few minutes of driving in silence, I told my son to pause his music, because I was going to explain my emotions. Upon finishing, I was met with silence and a slight turn of his head out his window. I shared one last comment, that I don’t even have our fucking car, I’m borrowing a car, and yet I’m still expected to be the driver! Then, I said he could listen to his music and ignore me. Because, that’s what he was doing.
No matter how justified I was in expressing myself, I instantly felt the grip of guilt and shame around my throat! My whole life, I’ve doubted my ability to feel, the right to speak my emotions, so I’ve often resorted to anger. As a child, it wasn’t safe for me to express anger or resistance. I was the “good girl”, so, as an adult, I became angry to protect the vulnerable, silenced “good girl”.
I’m tired of being angry! I’m tired of gripping the spoon. What will happen if I let it go?