I just left a cafe because I couldn’t handle the mother-daughter dynamic happening at the table behind me. The volume, the intensity, the rage emanating from the daughter made me so cringey. I really do not like cringing for other people. I have enough of my own stuff to cringe about. Cringe!
I packed up my stuff after hearing the mom get three words into a sentence before her daughter interrupted with “Can you just get to the point of the story already! [RAWR!]“
*RAWR added for emphasis.
I’ve been feeling mysteriously defiant lately. Like, I’ll be eating peanut butter out of the jar even though I’m not feeling particularly hungry. And I’ll sense this wave of my own RAWR!. An inner voice saying “you can’t stop me” or “because I can!”
I can take my defiance out on a jar of peanut butter. (And my stomach.) I would so rather not.
If I don’t know that that’s why I’m eating peanut butter, I’m just all “wahhhh, why do I eat peanut butter?! I suck!”
And it’s pretty obviously not about peanut butter. But what is it about? I don’t know! rawr.
Maybe it doesn’t matter. Sometimes I try to figure out why I’m feeling a certain way but just end up getting myself more stuck because either I can’t find a “legitimate” reason which leads to struggling with myself or stifling myself. OR, I start looking for evidence as to why I should be feeling whatever crappy way I’m feeling which is a good way to discover a load of crap.
Then I got to witness this vitriolic encounter at the cafe. I have no idea what’s really going on under all of that girl’s rage. Her parents had recently gotten divorced and they were planning for who would get what holiday. Divorce is enough to set off some stuff.
Whatever is going on, I’m sure her rage somehow makes sense. But it was hard to watch. I think because from the outside her anger was so clearly about something else.
She can be a total brat to her mom and never get any sense of satisfaction, never even touch or express her real pain or hurt or fear or shame. And then her brattiness probably just adds a new layer of guilt and separation. (Guessing from my own personal experience as a sometime brat.)
Maybe her brattiness is my peanut butter consumption. And then we feel bad about that thing in addition to (or instead of) the other thing. The real thing. And the real thing doesn’t get any air or space or attention or love so that it can heal and transform and float away.
I’m trying to just let the defiance be there, assuming it somehow makes sense. I’ve been wanting to throw a good old-fashioned tantrum, but I notice I don’t really know how. I can sort of stomp around and say grrrrr and set my water glass down loudly and glare. But beyond that, I’ve got nothing.
Maybe I could just get out my jar peanut butter and glare at it. I like that idea.
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this is funny to me because I was just thinking about how good it would feel to throw a tantrum – I would get in my car and drive to the woods and do it, I think, so I could actually scream really loudly if I wanted to and no one would hear… and maybe bring a pillow so I could bash it around a little if the need arises…