Tuesday, May 3, 2011
In trying to figure out why I get so very angry over so many very little things, I had a revelation. I'm sure it will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me, but I somehow I hadn't quite admitted it to myself before.
I AM A DOORMAT.
I'm like Adam Sandler in the film Anger Management - I let people walk all over me without saying anything, my resentment slowly builds, and then my anger spills out in unhealthy pockets of rage and judgement.
I've waited to grow out of, attempted to redefine, and even decided to live with my innate shyness. But while there's no real problem with a sensitive introvert being awkward with new people and a bit quiet, my inability to stick up for myself is troubling.
I'm a bit stuck - voicing my rights would mean leaving my comfort zone, something I'm not too into doing. But as always, knowing the problem is a huge help. I've started to recognise the bubbling up inside and thinking about what to do next. When I get outraged, I now think about whether the outrage is reasonable or not, and then how I'm going to act on it. If I'm not going to act, then there is no point being angry - I have to speak up or let it go. I might not be actually speaking up to anyone, but at least I am making some sort of conscious decision not to.
Probably the very best part of all is that I can blame this all on my mother. According to the pop-psychology I read on the net on the day that I diagnosed myself, my behaviour is a classic symptom of a child who had a domineering, power-playing parent.
It might not be much of a move up from the door-step, but I am proud to have uncovered my doormat status. For now I will take comfort in the words of Jewel, and blame my pain on the world; "please be careful with me, I'm sensitive and I'd like to stay that way."