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Something’s Wrong With Me Like Never Before
Gentlemen, “it would be as if your testicles shriveled and died at 51,” so listen up.
My teenagers are shouting and laughing together while brushing their teeth in the bathroom and I’m feeling it rise.
An outburst of anger takes possession of my nerves and vocal cords and I yell at them to keep it down and better keep my mirror free of the toothpaste droplets that I am the only one to clean incessantly. “I’m not your maid!”
Only after do I remember to take a deep breath and then realise how hysterical it may seem to get so angry over something droplet small.
Sounds familiar?
I should know better. I meditate daily and even preach the importance of mindfulness to my kids. And then get angry again about being a deplorable example of it.
The triggers have multiplied in the past year or so, and with them, the intensity of my momentary fits. They make me miserable when they happen. Seems like no amount of meditation could prevent them…
I was blaming it on my unprocessed divorce trauma, even generational karma, but menopause never occurred. I have to admit that the subject had the allure of a desolate post-industrial city in the middle of nowhere even to my menopausal…
