I was never an angry person. Sure, I could get mad. Sure, after my dad died I had a lot of misdirected anger towards the world. But as a deep feeling person, angry was low on the list of feeling words I would use to describe myself. Enter marriage AND motherhood. Woah nelly.
My mom yelled a lot when we were kids (hi mom, I love you!). She screamed at us, my dad, the dogs, and even at the TV while watching football. If you slept over at my house in the 90s-2000s, it was not rare to hear her come downstairs and scream “it is 4am girls, go to sleep!!!!” She was the most incredible and loving mom, involved, hands on, and I never thought twice about her yelling. I never felt like she didn’t love me. I always knew she would do ANYTHING for me and my sister. Given all of that, it shouldn’t be too surprising that I too yell sometimes.
My rage is no mystery. But it can be shocking. I know exactly what my triggers are: not being heard, being heard but being blatantly ignored, LOUD NOISES, my house being a mess, our house and personal items being treated like shit, my kids staring me dead in the eye while I tell them not to do something they continue to do, sleep deprivation, LOUD NOISES, food waste, GAL saying he is tired, my kids fighting with each other, running late, GAL asking me things I have already told him 1800 times, having no personal space, my kids breaking things ALL THE TIME, GAL huffing and puffing while changing a diaper, and LOUD NOISES. I am overwhelmed, under-appreciated, and overstimulated, FUCK OFF.
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