I'm Not Angry Anymore

Today's topic, boyz and gurlz, is anger management. Now, anger can really get the best of one, can't it? Reading over my last couple of posts, I understand what this blog writing thing is all about. For me, anyway. It's about the venting and bitching and spewing our opinions to anyone who will read them. And even [as in my case] if almost no one reads them.

And isn't that a much healthier way to release the anger than, say, punching a wall and breaking your hand, not that we know anyone who has ever done that (love you, sweetie).

And then I cannot help but to think of my mother. A stay at home mom who also helped my dad run a business for 40 years while raising eleven 11 eleven 11 children who were born approximately every 1.5 to 2 years from 1949 to 1970. Jesus. What did she do with all of those feelings, frustrations, and worries about whether she was doing it right?

What did she do with the anger? Can you imagine how pissed off at us kids she was--daily? She didn't really yell--not like I would, were I in her shoes. She didn't even drink! How did she deal? She had Mary (the mother of our lord) and she had Mass (every day of her life). She had a few friends she could sneak a phone call to when the house was quiet enough to talk for the three or four minutes between someone being pushed down the stairs or screaming bloody murder because their doll had been decapitated.

She didn't have a blog, or a diary, or the time to write anything. Ever.

And I think about how lucky I am. If I couldn't write every day, I would be much less, well. . . pleasant than I am. This cathartic practice is all I need to purge the shitty stuff from my core. This, I can manage.