|Photo from here|
What do you do when a good cry is catapulting around inside your body but won’t come out? When the beast of anger has stormed in and is now wrecking havoc, throwing plates around in your head, pounding on your guts, squeezing your lungs… Sucking patience and reason out of you through its fetid mouth, taking over your movement and latching onto your spine all “body snatchers” style? Yuck. It’s probably just one of those days, one of those carry-your-son-football-style-out-of-daycare, screaming, after-literally-wrestling-him-into-a-one-piece-snowsuit, then-into-his-car-seat kind of days. The kind where you are also carrying a deeply overtired 8-month-old in the other arm, whom you have baby-tortured enough already today (in and out of the car, making him wait to nap a second time so you could pick up his dear brother). There is nothing that pushes the rage button harder than having different agendas than your child/dren, especially when it comes to getting the heck out of Dodge quickly in winter.
I use the beast metaphor with great care for it feels like something that is not me has taken over and is now overstaying its welcome, its gift of grime smearing an otherwise lovely day (albeit overfull). I am not relinquishing responsibility for my actions. I know the beast is me, the shadow part of me being pushed beyond reason as a parent. I just hate its ugly face. I want to stamp the life from it. The best way I know to ride myself of these feelings is to cry, but no window has opened, no tears fall. It’s just me and my ¼ lung capacity, my fingers looking for salvation through typing. Maybe that’s enough for now. Maybe there’s chocolate.