Child is pushing on every single button I have. Complaining, talking back, whining, “Why did she get that and I didn’t,” and “It’s not fair,” and pre-hormonal outbreaks of “I hate you!” slamming doors and dramatic crying fits. And I’m out of breath. Literally. I. Cannot.Breathe. I simple cannot.
My heart it pounding into my throat as I debate which would bring me more immediate joy- violently attacking child or eating fifteen snickers bars. Both I consider both an inch more than slightly irrational, though in my current state of mind it’s not blazingly clear to me which would be worse. It should be. My mind knows. So does my heart. But these buttons, these neurons of painful unresolved issues firing like hot flashed dog-in-heat, they don’t speak the language I’ve trained myself to adhere to. They don’t get anicca, and light and energy healing. They don’t speak that tongue.