In the kitchen with my husband and son.
The anger, hurt, tired, and frustration of the past few weeks hit the breaking point.
I yelled. I screamed. I may have used some profanity. I slammed cabinet doors and shook my finger in my son's face.
He'd been home from college for just about three hours.
The good news is that I feel better, and they could take it. They seemed to understand on some level, and it doesn't upset them when I yell. Especially since it's not their fault. Actually my son laughs and tells me how to fix the problem, and my husband (a little more experienced with me and anger) cracks a wry grin and nods his head -- a lot.
Once I got past their amusement at my frustration, I found it was rather freeing to tell them how I was feeling. I was even able to laugh along with them at some of it.
We made a plan and clarified some confused communication. I reminded my son that, even though his brain works just like his dad's, my does not. I don't have their genetic make up. Plans must be clearly verbalized. (They are not unlike dealing with Spock on Star Trek. Logic is king.)
So this morning I have a list and a plan. And when that list is dealt with, I'm switching gears to do the things that are important to me. With no guilt.
Maybe the paranoia, exhaustion, and anger will take a break for awhile anyway.
Lord willing.
linking up with imperfect prose on thursdays
Dear Melanie
ReplyDeleteWhen you are that point where you break down and scream like you did, it means just one thing!! You should have taken time off long ago to do the things you like doing most! But we are all guilty to some degree if this one; lighting the candle at both sides.
Blessings from Emily's.
Mia