I behaved badly this week. I'm still not quite sure how it happened. One minute I was at home, making the first family dinner of 2018, getting beaten at Texas Hold 'Em, sprinkling pumpkin seeds on my watermelon, mint, feta salad, listening to Aldous Harding, dogs, kids, chaos. Nek minnit I was being a prize arsehole.
How did I go from one place - jolly salad-making DHC- to the other, shrieking harpy DHC? It had something to do with a perceived slight, feeling unworthy, remembering childhood inadequacies (I'm 50, I know, isn't it time to get over that your father never loved you?). Scratch the surface of the middle aged woman who most of the time passes as a reasonably functioning member of society and I am still the scowly immigrant schoolgirl who felt like an outsider who never got good enough grades to please my father. And be warned if you might accidentally push those woe-is-me buttons. Because whammo, I'm straight back there. I lashed out with unwarranted harsh words. I was so disappointed in myself.
My family left in a huff and I went and sat outside in the dark and looked at the rain and felt ashamed and shitty (Pathetic fallacy right there).
I felt especially worm-eating because I really thought I'd got past this kind of behaviour. I thought I'd learnt not to be so emotionally reactive. I used to call these my "spinny fits". I thought I'd left them behind years ago, along with wearing that terrible perfume Poison and listening to Nirvana.
I meditate these days for goodness sake. (Cue pan flutes) I've done courses. I've done the therapy. I've put in the work. I know about emotional regulation.