***DISCLAIMER: This post does not reflect how I feel about my job. I love my job. I love the people at my job. I am only angry with my internal clock for being so darn stubborn while I’m on this morning shift***
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It’s only the third day of this thing and I’m already worried about coming up with interesting things to write. I’m struggling to come up with something funny or insightful. That’s my personal challenge. I’ve always worried that whatever I say is not important unless it makes someone laugh or think. That is a ridiculous standard to set. I’m definitely not always funny, and I’m certainly not smart enough to always be insightful. So I’ll consider this post – me, tapping into the courage of having nothing noteworthy to say and still saying something.
Over the past few weeks I’ve discovered the worst version of myself and in that I’ve learned something really important. I’m not going to go into great detail. If you’re wondering, I think the recipe to find your worst self is to just deprive her of adequate amounts of sleep for weeks on end. That’s where I am now and it’s made me a little afraid of me. I’m afraid of the girl who wakes up to her 2:30 AM alarm with thoughts of pure hatred. Senior year of high school I was voted “most likely to brighten your day”. Now at 2:30 AM on most days I’m just glad the only other creature I have to interact with is my dog, because it’s impossible to hate her.
I’m afraid of the girl who hasn’t cried in at least two weeks because crying is kind of my thing. I cry often. I cry tears of joy at sappy hallmark commercials. I cry to let off steam. I cry sad tears when I should be angry, because I’ve never been good at angry. I’ve never been good at it, until now. If I had to say the best gift I’ve gotten from my experience on the morning shift, it’d be anger. I’ve found a way to tap into anger – an emotion I’ve never understood. For most of my life I’ve reserved the bulk of my anger for UNC basketball games. I’ll yell, curse, yell some more during the course of a game. I’ve never been able to access that strength of emotion outside the realm of college basketball. I don’t get angry at people when they do me wrong. I get sad. I don’t get angry at drivers who cut me off in traffic, I assume they’re in a much bigger hurry than I am.
I’ve never been able to tap into anger until now. I guess some of this comes from being a woman. Good lord, the older I get the more I notice things that come with being raised female. We’re taught gentler emotions, for better or worse. I’m kind of in love with my new ability to just be angry. I’ve learned how to actually get fired up over things that should make me mad. I’m understanding, for the first time, the strength that can come with anger. It’s not wallowing in self-pity. It’s not wanting to hurt anyone around me. It’s knowing that it is simply okay sometimes to not smile and pretend everything is great.
It’s acceptable to get fired up over some things.
And if you can harness anger into passion, it’s probably more than acceptable. I’d bet it’s beneficial.
Elizabeth LaFleur 