Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
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| Like The Queen Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content. |
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3 Comments:Bess, I continue to think we're sisters separated at birth...! I too, suppress, to the point it has me wearing a guard for my teeth -- and even so, darn it, I just broke a bottom molar and need a crown to protect what's left, to the tune of many $$$ (several knitting projects worth...) :-( I have had some heavy duty moaning and groaning sessions, but have to be sure no one's around... This comment has been removed by a blog administrator. BTW, I didn't intentionally remove a post, I just played with the trashcan icon and my post vanished. It just said I had continued the theme on my blog. :-) Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Friday, June 25, 2004 I am singularly uninspired today, in spite of Catherine's most excellent comments on women (really, it's true for anyone) suppressing their anger. This topic is dear to me because a.)I'm a suppresser, and b.) I had the most amazing experience, once, when I blew the lid off - and it's such a tale it's worthy of sharing. Seems a shame, though, to write about it when I'm feeling so dull. Heavy humidity rolled in last night and I woke at 4, so by now I'm pretty bleary eyed. Virgo. Middle child. Tender hearted. Irish tempered dad. It's no wonder I was never one to let my anger show - and it has taken my entire adult life, which now amounts to several decades, to learn even the basics of expressing the negative stuff to anyone who matters. And if the other doesn't matter, I'm hardly likely to have negative emotions about him. But I did have one very trenchant, very object lesson, a few years ago and I make much more of an effort now, to tell it like it is. The first time I heard about primal scream therapy I was rather repulsed. The idea of someone just screaming out his fury made me enormously nervous. I grew up in a house with lots of screaming and my first inclination still is to duck for cover when voices are raised. Not for me, the temptation to join in the fray. In a world full of things to think about, talk about, and do, why not just drop the ugly stuff and pick up the beautiful? This is very difficult for the debaters in my family - the Ds, who are fascinated with the tug and pull and victory of argument. Love goes a long way towards helping us accept each other's limitations, but natural inclination doesn't just disappear, even when one chooses to cooperate with a partner who's bend is not a parallel curve. Several years ago a family situation developed, slowly, and stealthily, which put me in a very difficult position, opposite another family member. It eventually decayed into an untenable one. The penultimate moment came when I developed an ovarian cyst which necessitated making severe changes in the household routine. "Don't lift anything over 5 pounds," my dr. insisted, "We will schedule the operation for next week." The ultimate moment came a few days later, when all of the relevant facts of the situation became known to me. I was at home at the time, 1/2 a mile from the mail box and 2 miles from my nearest neighbor. As I hung up the phone, after hearing the ugly details, I really let go with my anger. I screamed. I yelled. I howled. I stalked the front yard waving frantic arms. My fingers curled into claws as I scratched the air in fury. BD stared like some cobra victim, unable to blink, unable to speak. The dogs stood beside him, all of them about 4 feet away, riveted to this virago (yea, not virgo now) spewing out months of pent up rage. My body seemed to open up, flowing with intensity, nothing was held back. As I paced about the yard I had this intense craving for fruit and I knew it was a cellular need to cleanse myself. We had a little peach tree with small bitter peaches on it. I stormed over to it and began cramming them into my mouth. The bitter wetness seemed like a purge. And every step I took, BD and the dogs followed, tied to me by some invisible bond, unable to come any closer than 4 feet, but unable to get away either. I remember stopping in my passion and asking him how people who live in towns or suburbs ever get rid of such anger? Then more heaving screams poured out as my very spirit asserted its need to vent. The whole episode took maybe 30 minutes - although it may have been less, or more. But it was a good bit of time and I through it all I had this dual emotion of utter gratitude that I lived in the back of beyond where I could just let it all go. Nobody was going to call the police or the psychiatrist. Nobody would know and nobody would care. I could just dump it all and by golly I sure did. And the next day that cyst was gone. Yep. I went to the dr. and told him all about it. I tried to ask him if it was possible to scream away a cyst and he just didn't want to know. "Oh it wasn't psychosomatic. You really did have an enormous cyst." he tried to reassure me. Well, hell, I knew that. I could see the darn thing poking my belly out like I was 5 months pregnant. And it wasn't important that he didn't want to go into any feel-good discussions. I know what happened and I know that I was darned lucky the interpersonal crap blew up when it did, 'cause otherwise I'd have had to have that operation. So. It was an object lesson to me; don't hold in my anger. I'm still inclined to do so, of course, and enormously clumsy when I do open up. But at least I know for sure it's a better to spit it out than to hold it in. Thanks Catherine. I need reminded of that now and then. posted by Bess | 6:47 AM |
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