Some days, being a human is difficult.
Usually this is because you are in understandably difficult circumstances: you are sick or people are being awful to you or you lost your job or your house blew away. But if you’re like me, sometimes things are hard for the simple, miserable reason that you are yourself.
I’m not talking about depression, or that type of thing. I’m talking about how I get grumpy and annoying and can hardly stand being around me. I envy the people who can escape it by going to the other room.
I was in this place the other week. My rage was directed at various people and the various life circumstances I am in with them. I maybe threw a couple fits, but I didn’t flop to floor so I don’t think it should count.
Being a expert grumpy-lady-wrangler by now, my husband just listened and said “I’m sorry you’re upset”. Between those words, I heard “you are over-reacting a tiny bit” in between the words, but since he didn’t say it out loud and since I knew he was really doing the best he could, I didn’t count it against him and just stomped off.
I even went for a furious bike ride, hoping I’d hit a pothole that was big enough to knock my awful self off while I sped away. I was so furious that it wasn’t until half way through the ride that I realized I hadn’t worn my helmet, so the rest of the ride I was torn between trying to not end up in the hospital and wondering if a slight concussion might actually help.
But I — all of me — came back safe and sound.
Maybe someday I will figure out what makes me so irritated with myself. I do know taking care of myself helps, but I’m not certain it solves it entirely. And it’s certainly of no value once I’m in that place because I am in spit-out-the-medicine toddler mode. There is no self-care trick to fix that but to walk away and wait.
And so that’s what I do, when I’m finally ready. I throw out a “Come rescue me!” prayer. Then I cringe and white-knuckle it until the episode has passed. It always does. It always lasts longer than I’d like, sometimes hours and sometimes days and sometimes even months.
But that’s what it is to human.
I hate not being able to fix myself. I hate feeling like I need to fix myself. I hate that I do not come with a “reset” button. I hate that God doesn’t swoop down and make me happy every time I ask him to. I hate that I have to wait. I hate that we hit those spots on the road where the branches thwak us in the face and all we can do is squint and scrunch up and know that somewhere up ahead we will have a break from the branches but that for now, there a lot of thwaking.