Normally I meticulously plan my blogs and write and rewrite them on and off for days until everything “feels just right.” Then I post them, sending them off into the world to be read, judged, ignored, scoffed at, laughed at, cried over, shared, cheered on and what-not. Not tonight. Tonight I am making this up as I go. Because tonight I am raging. I’m not exactly sure why. All I know is that sometimes even the nicest, gentlest, kindest, most well-meaning, loving souls need to run out into the quiet dead of the night and break the peaceful, polite silence, screaming insults at the moon. To go a bit wild - a madness that is neither drink- or drug-induced but that of simply releasing the burden of being proper and accepting too long. We “good people” - the rule followers, the givers, the caretakers - we often burn ourselves up giving light to others. We do this willingly, gladly - it’s almost instinctual. We know no other way of living because we believe offering light to others IS our life’s purpose. But when the last of our embers die and we feel the chill and sit in the smothering darkness a bit too long, our fight for survival takes over. Perhaps this is where the rage comes in. We want and need some of that light and warmth too. We want to be seen, heard, touched and cared for too. Yet we feel selfish for asking for it. Or maybe, we don’t want to ruffle any feathers. Bullshit. It’s time that we remind ourselves, givers, that taking care of ourselves, speaking our needs and truth and setting healthy boundaries is not a luxury but a necessity. This weekend a man passed by me and growled, “Damn, you are looking good.” This comment could be taken as complimentary and certainly harmless had he not looked me up and down and practically licked his lips like I was a juicy steak. Instead, his outright ogling made me feel cheap and mindless. And how did I respond? Did I express my outrage over his impropriety? Tell him where to stick it? Nope, I just laughed uncomfortably and said, “Thank you.” No. No. No. I want a do-over. I want to tell him that I have three times the brains he has and a whole lot more social skills and class. I want to say that sexy can be fun but being treated like a sex object is not. I want to punch him in the face. Instead, I’m raging alone in the middle of the night. Because I let something that was not okay be okay. But we do this all the time, good people, don’t we? We have to stop saying yes to shit we hate. It’s that simple. Otherwise we start exploding with pent up resentment and grow bitter. Bitter is ugly. Now let me be clear: Some things that we dislike are just a part of life and we don’t get a pass on them. For example, I loathe hand washing the pots and pans and other dishware that is deemed unsafe for the dishwasher. I would rather poke my eyes out than suffer through this torture day after day. But I regularly go through this hedonistic ritual of hand washing because, well, I need clean pots and pans to cook dinner for my family. We also don’t get to say no to things like going to work or to the doctor or paying our taxes or changing our children’s poopy diapers. That’s adult responsibility and it’s part of being a grownup. But…we have to stop saying yes to the other shit, the stuff that makes us feel icky inside, extinguishes our light and drains our energy: People treating us poorly. Ignoring actions that go against our morals and beliefs. Agreeing to bake five dozen brownies for the bake sale the next day because we got a call at 7 p.m. asking if we can help, even though we just worked a 10-hour day and we feel a cold coming on. No. No. No. Just say no. You have the right to take care of yourself, to nicely but firmly say what you can or can’t do, what you do or do not want, what is acceptable to you and what is not. How others respond to your declarations - when made respectfully and with good intent - is their issue, not yours. Light their candles if you must, but save some flame for yourself. You deserve it. Now go out and scream at the moon and do better tomorrow. I’m sure gonna try.
