Why I fight.
- Still brooding over last month’s mother-in-law innocent child-rearing comment. Get it out!
- Too-sterile, twice-breathed air of co-habitated space driving me crazy. Create drama!
- Far too long since intense sweat-panting, moaning sex. Make-up sex is a remote option. Go for it!
- Bad attention is better than no attention, and I can’t breathe, remember? Throw something hard!
- My fantasy body, lover, and life are a nose-diving joke. Triumph at least in this!
Pitiful, but true- fighting was once of my all-time favorite pastime.
Over-slept stumbled through the door, mumbling, “I’m, uh, gonna, drink my coffee outside,” until two and a half hours later when he shows up again, grinning. Not what we agreed upon. We were going do this with our children, with both parents, here, involved; and he conveniently gets lost. Lucky me.
Is this it? Is this how it goes- we just screw each other, and smile? How long will I put up with this shit? And on and on it went in my head. Heartbeat racing, throat tightening, finger pointing because I am so right, and he is so wrong; I am so the victim; he is so to blame.
“Wanna fight?” said the grouchy ladybug. “If you insist.” But I didn’t fight. I’ll teach you why, and how.
Lemme At Him!
We all fight. We do. But, always, always, always for the wrong reasons. Always, because someone else did not complete in me what was lacking. Someone else stole/broke/walked away with what I thought I deserved to have. And, because something inside, deep deep inside hurts, and I can’t handle it.
We create fights to deflect the pain that volcanoes within us. We create fights and painful energy dynamics in an attempt to get some energy from the other. We create fights because you, the guy pushing on my buttons are pushing too hard and I want you off NOW! We create fights because I’m so lonely/sad/lost/scared/sick of myself/ [fill in the blank] and you should alleviate all of that with your magic.
Getting molten-red angry and instigating midnight combat is the ultimate cop-out for us all. It’s genius. Classic.
Want to avoid doing your soul work? Go pick a fight. Works like a charm. Every time, except that one time.
That One Time
When I really, really did try to fight. I threw everything I could; he looked at me, sweetly. I pointed, screamed, shit! I threw things (literally); he looked at me, blankly. I fatalistically cursed so passionately, I cried; he observed me from doorway. I told him to ‘go away forever!’; and he did. He walked away and left me, there, on the floor, dripping, oozing, seething, to be in it with just myself.
And after the breathing stopped, the tears burned; I just sat there, in a ball, holding myself, rocking my inner child and knowing that I could not escape me. He didn’t accept my invitation. He was too wise. He knew it was time for me to grow. And I did.
And that’s why I didn’t fight today. I wanted to so temper-tantrum badly. As seconds ticked; I got more pissed, more self-righteous. As he walked in with that goofy, slap-me-now smirk; I was afire, and used every, every, every ounce of energy not to look at him like that, not to react.
He’s one amazing guy, an unreal father, a supporter of every this-one-will-work entrepreneurship and this-one-will-work spiritual re-direction I’ve ever splatted on the breakfast table. For the past forever, he’s done studies with the kids (alone), he’s read them to sleep (alone), he’s left me to be as I most cherish (alone). So, he walked out. Big fuckin deal. Last time he did it, I got a lot of soul work done. He should do that more often.
I didn’t fight today because it was my story. Just mine. He can’t fix what hurts, only I can. Throwing up on him would only deafen me from my own gray whispers.
How To Not Fight
Choose to recognize what is really going on.
Choose to cry.
Choose to watch Friends.
Choose to go to Zumba.
Choose to eat something, take a walk, surf the web, numb it elsewhere until you can face the deeper issues.
Choose to be still.
Choose to love yourself.
Choose to tell your story in third person.
Choose to listen to what comes up, with empathy.
Choose to walk into bathroom and cry to the mirror, instead of slapping someone.
Choose to eat ice cream, guilt-free.
Choose to cuddle with your cat.
Choose to clean out that drawer.
Choose to drive nowhere in particular.
Choose to meditate.
Choose to let the wave rise and (hold on) and fall.
Choose to write in a journal, blog, here, or on the bathroom mirror with the florescent teal nail polish.
Choose to talk to your best friend.
Choose to find an amazing therapist.
Choose to hum.
Choose to dance.
Choose to do “The Work” by Byron Katie.
Choose to go back to bed.
Choose to take a day off and go horseback riding or walk on the beach, alone.
Choose to visit your childhood home.
Choose to garden.
Choose to take yourself out to dinner.
Choose to believe in your unearthly ability to clean your soul, one step more.
Choose to sit down with your inner child.
Choose to buy some flowers and silently smell them, with tears rolling down your cheeks.
Choose to translate those tears to utter joy of your soul calling you, and you listening.
Choose to choose.
Any thoughts? You know I’m listening…
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