Triggers, Contempt & Acceptance
It’s humbling to find you’ve reached middle age and still haven’t overcome childhood issues. It’s not as if you carry the thoughts with you daily, searching for proof of emotional growth and development. There’s just a sense of current well-being, a feeling that things are okay deep within you. Then something happens, a trigger is pulled, and you find yourself in reversion, a child facing the all too familiar fears and confusion. Facing these recurrent, yet surprising demons is not easy, but I’d have to say it’s even more challenging when under the weight of additional burdens and challenges new and foreign to you
My trigger is anger, that quick-fire anger that spews venom in an act of “purging” and leaves a trail of acid burn in its wake. It’s the unexpected fury when your peace and contentment is disrupted by a sudden volcanic outburst that’s been quietly, unbeknownst brewing beneath the surface.
It’s at these moments of eruption I become paralyzed. I thought I’d come to a place to calmly respond to such perceived crisis, after all I’ve been dealing with the unexpected nature of human behavior for years, supervising, managing, even mentoring. It turns out my ability to properly respond is directly related to my emotional involvement. Put simply, the more I love the more frozen I become in the face of fury. Tragically, being paralyzed only increases the anger and perpetuates the cycle of rage.
“You’ve experienced the worst,” I hear them say. “There’s no reason to freeze up. Your fears have already come to pass.”
The little girl inside knows better. How many times did I believe such logic? He’d yelled, and thrown things. I’d seen the worst. Until the next time, when he hit the wall or busted the television screen. That was the worst. Now I could breathe. Then he hit mother. He put me in the hospital. In the face of rage, my little girl reminds me the worst is always yet to come…always.
It’s not the fear of physical pain that is most paralyzing. It’s the truths that are unveiled during those uncensored moments. You stand before the person you love, the one in whom you have placed so much faith and belief, the one who occupies such a large part of your heart, your life, and the pieces of you are shattered beneath the contempt you’re shocked to discover. The words outline your failures, your lack; they distort character traits into deficiencies and spotlight your shame. The insults are debilitating. The prognosis for recovering from such emotional blows is not good because the words are an infection of the brain, remembered and reactivated, destroying the foundation and integrity of your emotional being.
I’ve learned the art of analyzing. I am able to understand my responsibilities versus the issues of others. What I haven’t learned is how to engage in such angry outbursts. In all honesty, I’m not sure I want to learn. Perhaps that does make me weak, submissive, a non-participant in relationships. But, I don’t want to be an infection. I don’t want my voice to be the one remembered for pain. I want to create a legacy of kindness. I don’t believe encouraging words and exhortation are pretense and white lies. Acknowledging the good in people is highlighting a truth that is too often ignored, and more often extinguished through neglect and disgrace.
I’ve been condemned. The joy I find in just being in the presence of someone I love has been deemed not having a mind of my own. The fact I don’t complain when things go wrong, but try to laugh at the moment makes me superficial. The way I put others first is considered submissive and unbalanced. My very nature has been judged as unsuitable for a loving relationship.
And I'm frozen. I can't respond with equal anger. I await the next blow. I drown in the sadness. I forgive them. I forgive myself.
My little girl weeps again.
I hold her in my arms because she is enough. She is accepted. She is worthy. She has great value. She is loved.
There are things about me that are fundamental to whom I am as a person. They are not just behaviors; they are traits, threads woven into my very being.
I laugh when things go wrong, when I get lost or things don’t go as planned. It’s life. I can find fun in what it brings or be frustrated and angry.
I am not a masked misanthrope. I like people. I genuinely like them. In all their complexity and screwed up ways, I find there is always something quite special and unique to be valued in everyone. That beauty is the relationship path I’m on, not the one that judges differences, demands change, or drowns in negative.
I’m comfortable in love. I don’t search for the back doors, anticipate betrayal, or strategically plan for a check mate. I find peace in the very act of loving others.
I’m a giver. I find joy and happiness in bringing a smile to someone else.
I speak up about my needs and wants when they are important and not before. I have no desire to appear self-absorbed or to become a burden.
I enjoy being approachable, being that person people can come to with requests, thoughts and dreams.
I forgive.
This is who I am. There is value to be found. I’m not a bad a person.
It hurts to discover someone you love has contempt for who you are. In time the memory of the words will wane, the pain will subside. The eruption becomes a memory, the change in the landscape from the outbursts both a reminder and a new page. I can still be found walking on this unstable path. I’m an optimist. There’s no shame in that.
My trigger is anger, that quick-fire anger that spews venom in an act of “purging” and leaves a trail of acid burn in its wake. It’s the unexpected fury when your peace and contentment is disrupted by a sudden volcanic outburst that’s been quietly, unbeknownst brewing beneath the surface.
It’s at these moments of eruption I become paralyzed. I thought I’d come to a place to calmly respond to such perceived crisis, after all I’ve been dealing with the unexpected nature of human behavior for years, supervising, managing, even mentoring. It turns out my ability to properly respond is directly related to my emotional involvement. Put simply, the more I love the more frozen I become in the face of fury. Tragically, being paralyzed only increases the anger and perpetuates the cycle of rage.
“You’ve experienced the worst,” I hear them say. “There’s no reason to freeze up. Your fears have already come to pass.”
The little girl inside knows better. How many times did I believe such logic? He’d yelled, and thrown things. I’d seen the worst. Until the next time, when he hit the wall or busted the television screen. That was the worst. Now I could breathe. Then he hit mother. He put me in the hospital. In the face of rage, my little girl reminds me the worst is always yet to come…always.
It’s not the fear of physical pain that is most paralyzing. It’s the truths that are unveiled during those uncensored moments. You stand before the person you love, the one in whom you have placed so much faith and belief, the one who occupies such a large part of your heart, your life, and the pieces of you are shattered beneath the contempt you’re shocked to discover. The words outline your failures, your lack; they distort character traits into deficiencies and spotlight your shame. The insults are debilitating. The prognosis for recovering from such emotional blows is not good because the words are an infection of the brain, remembered and reactivated, destroying the foundation and integrity of your emotional being.
I’ve learned the art of analyzing. I am able to understand my responsibilities versus the issues of others. What I haven’t learned is how to engage in such angry outbursts. In all honesty, I’m not sure I want to learn. Perhaps that does make me weak, submissive, a non-participant in relationships. But, I don’t want to be an infection. I don’t want my voice to be the one remembered for pain. I want to create a legacy of kindness. I don’t believe encouraging words and exhortation are pretense and white lies. Acknowledging the good in people is highlighting a truth that is too often ignored, and more often extinguished through neglect and disgrace.
I’ve been condemned. The joy I find in just being in the presence of someone I love has been deemed not having a mind of my own. The fact I don’t complain when things go wrong, but try to laugh at the moment makes me superficial. The way I put others first is considered submissive and unbalanced. My very nature has been judged as unsuitable for a loving relationship.
And I'm frozen. I can't respond with equal anger. I await the next blow. I drown in the sadness. I forgive them. I forgive myself.
My little girl weeps again.
I hold her in my arms because she is enough. She is accepted. She is worthy. She has great value. She is loved.
There are things about me that are fundamental to whom I am as a person. They are not just behaviors; they are traits, threads woven into my very being.
I laugh when things go wrong, when I get lost or things don’t go as planned. It’s life. I can find fun in what it brings or be frustrated and angry.
I am not a masked misanthrope. I like people. I genuinely like them. In all their complexity and screwed up ways, I find there is always something quite special and unique to be valued in everyone. That beauty is the relationship path I’m on, not the one that judges differences, demands change, or drowns in negative.
I’m comfortable in love. I don’t search for the back doors, anticipate betrayal, or strategically plan for a check mate. I find peace in the very act of loving others.
I’m a giver. I find joy and happiness in bringing a smile to someone else.
I speak up about my needs and wants when they are important and not before. I have no desire to appear self-absorbed or to become a burden.
I enjoy being approachable, being that person people can come to with requests, thoughts and dreams.
I forgive.
This is who I am. There is value to be found. I’m not a bad a person.
It hurts to discover someone you love has contempt for who you are. In time the memory of the words will wane, the pain will subside. The eruption becomes a memory, the change in the landscape from the outbursts both a reminder and a new page. I can still be found walking on this unstable path. I’m an optimist. There’s no shame in that.