Not like an Irishman would. Like angry.
I don’t know exactly why, but I have a hard time with anger. I avoid it. Or rather, I guess I don’t avoid it, I just shove it way down and hide it away when it shows up. It’s part of being a ‘people pleaser’ I guess. Part of the thing in my brain that tries to tell me that I’m not good enough, that I’d better do everything I can to smooth things over and be easy and delightful so that people will like me.
The thing is, people like me. I’m a likable person, even without the emotional contortions. And they say that they like me. And my hearing is fine. So there’s something between my ears and my brain, some sort of bizarre filter that takes things like, ‘I love your sense of humor,’ and turns it into, ‘make sure you’re funny around this person so they keep loving you.’
What the everlasting F*%K?!
I’ve been trying lately to just trust what I’m hearing. To manually override that voice whenever it pops up. And I’ve been loving the simple tool that my new mentor (ok, I’m just in love with her from afar) Brene Brown provided me, framing that voice as simply, ‘the story I’m telling myself.’ i.e. The story I’m telling myself is that you won’t like me if I’m not funny.
Because thinking about it as just a story being told, rather than Truth, takes a lot of the power out of it and turns the volume way down.
So the story I’ve been telling myself forever, is that I’m not good enough as I am. That I need to be what you want me to (or what I think you want me to be), in order to earn your love or acceptance. But that’s not Truth. And my feelings and ideas and needs matter and are deserving of attention. And it’s ok to be mad, to get pissed.
And I am!