ladysprite | Self-Indulgent Introspection (Reply)

You know what I really hate?

I really hate watching my own emotional responses blow up and become pathological, and being aware of the fact that it's happening, and not being able to change it. I know what I *want* to be doing and saying and thinking, and I know that what I'm actually saying is inappropriate and ridiculous and that I have no concrete reason to feel the way I do, and somehow I'm still powerless to stop the melodramatics and toxic transformation as they take place. So I get even more upset, at myself and the situation that triggers it, and the cycle gets even deeper and stronger.

I suppose I should feel proud of myself for at least being aware enough to recognize the cycle for what it is, but that doesn't feel like an accomplishment. On the other hand, maybe I should think of it instead as the pressure change that comes before a much-needed storm - last night, after about a half-hour crying jag, I think I wound up feeling better than I had in weeks.

My husband has been reading an article in Scientific American, about the scientific and genetic basis of happiness. I haven't read it myself, but he's been telling me bits of details, and it seems that the three major exercises for raising your Happiness Level, according to the author, are gratitude, kindness, and optimism. I'll admit I fall down on the optimism fairly often, but I like to think of myself as at least somewhat kind, and aware of my luck and blessings. But I did realize this morning that, as long as I'm trying to be kind to other people, maybe it wouldn't be the stupidest thing in the world if I tried once in a while to be kind to myself.

Yeah, I know. Big, dramatic revelation on par with, 'Maybe if it hurts when I stick my hand in the fire, I shouldn't stick my hand in the fire.' But sometimes when your hand is on fire, logical reasoning isn't in the front of your mind.

March was a fairly unkind month. I had a couple of all-consuming projects, I worked more hours than I should have worked in any two months, and the universe kept kicking me and most of my friends while we weren't looking. I guess I had... not a right, but at least a reason for feeling like an emotional minefield.

But... month over, crying jag over, new plan embarked upon. Take care of myself, do what *I* want to do on occasion, cut myself some slack. And listen to the kind of advice that I'd give a friend in my situation. Maybe it won't make a difference, but it can't hurt to try.