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| I need me some of these. So awesome! |
I'm not talking about the ones with bikinis and mud/jello/pudding that old dudes load up on Pay Per View on Thursday nights when the wife is at bingo. I'm talking about the games many a girl starts playing in the school yard and keeps playing well into her adult life.
This is already starting to sound like a vaguebook status, isn't it?
"The Maven is annoyed with people who need to grow up. Sighhhhhhhh...."
I can assure my readers it isn't. Maven don't play that. I am not a vaguebooker whatsoever. Being a writer, I'm legally not allowed to use words to attack someone, whether directly or indirectly. My hands are considered deadly weapons and must be used in self-defence only - or for drinking coffee.
This post is about me, about growth, about how damn wise I am - or not.
I don't fight; If you know The Maven in real life, you know she screams "pacifist". I used to think it made me a better person than those drama queens who get all up in each others' grills. My motto has always been "This, too, shall pass." It's a great motto, but not in this context. I avoid the situation, the person, the confrontation. I tell myself I'm being mature and sensible. I tell myself I'm keeping quiet so I don't lose my cool, say the wrong thing, and hurt someone I care about. Then I pat myself on the back for being so great. But really, I'm not being fair to either of us.
Not too long ago, I had a fight with a friend of mine (no jello or hair pulling - sorry guys). We hadn't spoken for a few days and both had our own interpretation of why. Tensions built up, and built up, and finally exploded when we did talk - and it was awful. We had a fight of words, accusations, and assumptions. An argument that grew from a small seed of resentment into a mutated monstrosity of mismanaged anger. Words flew all over the place like wicked little razors, slicing through the tension and cutting us both deeply. When it was over, we both went back to our corners to lick our wounds and wonder what the hell had happened. How did we get to this place?
A lack of balance on both parts, that's how. Not talking, not asking, just being silly girls on the playground.
Now, I talked about finding balance in my previous post in which I questioned being a stay-at-home-mom. But, as I'm discovering, there are a lot of other parts of my life that require a similar tune-up. How is not talking about things any better than yelling at each other? How am I a healthier human being by avoiding the person altogether? Here I am, smug as anything, feeling rather great about myself and how mature I am, and suddenly I'm knocked off my pedestal and falling - fast. The sudden realization that, by not talking, I helped make things worse, was not the least bit enjoyable.
Why is it that, while we may grow up into women, many of us don't stop being girls when it comes to confrontation? Why are we so afraid of talking about things, of asking for clarification, of knowing for sure instead of assuming? How is it that, at thirty-four, I'm guilty of this? You'd think that with my years of therapy, self-help groups and self-reflection, I'd be da bomb at assertiveness and confrontation. But I'm not. I kind of suck at it, actually. If I had been hired in the fact-checking department of a news office, I would have been pink slipped after the first week - or demoted to stamp-licker if I had a good union rep. I over-think instead of finding out. That's just stupid.
*~*~*
The only way to turn a bad situation into a good one is by figuring out the lessons within.
(See? I actually read the self-help books I own sometimes, so quit judging me. Oh, sorry. What I meant was: "I feel as though you're reading a couple of sentences back and judging me. Is that the case?" There, that's better.)
Anyway, I try to look at negative situations and pull something good from the rubble. What I've learned this time is that even though I'm awesome - and insightful and gorgeous and smart and terribly funny - I need to communicate better, more often, more clearly. I need to stop being the hopscotch girl in pigtails and be the woman I am in so many other ways. I need to respect myself and those I care about enough to let them know how I'm feeling, and give them the opportunity to share their side of things. And if we catch it early enough, we can avoid those big, epic battles of words that don't do much but hurt.
My friend and I are okay. We're better than okay, actually. We had a very long, honest talk after that awful argument and cleared the air, and I think our friendship grew as a result. This is good, because otherwise I might be too upset to blog this week and then what would you do with your time? Actually work? Clean the house? Read something intellectual? Ick.
Growth hurts - especially the emotional kind. I'm going to be a better communicator from now on. I'm going to go put my chalk away and find a sensible pair of slacks (in hot pink).