Re-entry from this trip has been rough. Not just the jetlag – although that has been a complete and utter asshole. It’s something more. Maybe it’s because my kid is struggling with it, too. There’s nobody quite so capable of finding fault with you as your own teenage child, and when that child is also dealing with anxiety and working through trauma, the fault-finding becomes particularly cutting and exhausting.
I’m not convinced that my struggle is just about the anger my teen is directing at me. It feels deeper, more existential, a questioning of my place in the world and my worth to it. There’s also a deep desire to let all of the dirt and the darkness out into the light of day. I pretty much always control myself, sometimes to rigid extremes, and lately I’m fighting an urge to tell people exactly what I think.
“Hey, guy whose kid molested another kid in front of my child, I don’t want to meet with you because I think you’re a misogynistic asshole who thinks boys will be boys.”
“Hey, asshole in the trashy white Mustang, I don’t give a fuck if you’re offended by the Hillary Clinton sticker on my car. Let me give you an earful about why Donald Trump is a piece of shit and so are you for supporting him.”
“Seriously, people left running the nonprofit I started after I had a mental breakdown in part because none of you would step up and help me? You want me to teach you how to run that software? The one I spent hours upon hours learning through trial and error because you didn’t want to? Don’t think so. Give Google a try, like I had to.”
Yeah, that kind of shit.
Apparently I have some unresolved anger that has come up as a result of traveling. I need to find an outlet and soon – because saying what I think is potentially both hurtful and dangerous.