If parents would have a meeting to share anonymously, it may go something like this…
By E.B. Livings
Welcome. We are all friends here. Anything shared should be understood with the utmost respect.
If this is a sacred space (I mean, it’s the Internet, right?), then I’ll just open up the meeting.
I struggle with this demon that most parents discover once their children turn about four. The evil spirit that erupts from your lungs and through your vocal cords after the repetition and defiance that challenges every morsel of your will power to remind yourself that, you are, in fact, the grown-up.
I’m talking about being a yeller. That visceral, insidious sound that escapes my mouth daily. It would astound most adults or even my high school students who are around me regularly that I repeatedly lose my ever-loving mind often. It’s the shameful secret I dread about myself. I am a yeller.
Like. My mom calls to check on me because she hears me from miles away. My neighbors give me the understanding nod or purposely avoid eye contact.
I’ve tried to fight it for years. I let go and let it out because I thought it would make me feel better. It just makes me feel worse.
I have, however, found new ways to cope that have alleviated this tendency:
A) speaking in a terrible British accent
B) turning the situation into a musical
The British accent. It takes some commitment. Once your jaw is aligned, every sentence seems quite strategic. Not only does this diffuse the situation because this can turn your children into fits of laughter or groans (either way it’s not fighting!), but it also makes yelling quite difficult. And it sounds rather ridiculous. More laughter. Even if it’s from you, which is golden.
This break can prevent you from causing the next natural disaster in your home. The “Pause” button for yourself if no one else is around to give you the reminder.
This other trick I do can sometimes back fire, but at least it is done with pizazz. I take whatever I’m crabby about and turn it into a musical. I just sing my irritated suggestions or frustrations. It often feels like, “I’m defying sanity” [queue Wicked soundtrack]. The catch to this method is the response of the children. Sometimes their agitation will send me from Mary Poppins to Maleficent and then I’m back at square one.
I engage in many activities in hopes to deter this dreaded relapse. I pray often. I do yoga daily. I run or walk daily. I eat well. I avoid alcohol [the wine made it worse. Sorry. I said it]. And still, I end up yelling.
Chalk it up to having four sons close in age. Chalk it up to reminding me I’m human. I try to emphasize to myself that it’s just a phase, or the other golden cliche, “This too shall pass.” I just wish it would pass as fast as a cold front in South Louisiana.
I don’t want to wish away their childhood. It’s the closest thing to innocence that’s left. I just yearn to learn how to deal with it better sometimes.
I’ve come to realize that usually once I voice my issue, really admit it aloud, the problem starts to resolve itself. Hopefully this is that first step in taking a breath of clarity rather than breathing out a breath of fire. Although that would actually be kind of cool.
So there’s my secret. Does anybody else have anything they need to talk about?
Unloading with LeeCee 