It only took me 16+ years, but I finally broke Hubby of an extremely bad habit. Or he just got sick of being yelled at over this, whatever. He finally stopped saying, “Now don’t get mad…”

Here’s the deal, people usually say, “Don’t get mad” right before they say something they know or suspect is going to piss you off. It’s a hedge, a way of deflecting the responsibility for an offense onto the offended. “Well, I told you not to get mad.” Grr.

Like most things in life that affect me more than they probably should, this “don’t get mad” thing hews a little too close to (my childhood) home. My parents, bless their pea-pickin’ little hearts, subscribed to the stop-cryin’-or-I’ll-give-you-something-to-cry-about method of parenting. Children’s emotions apparently sent them into some kind of downward spiral, you don’t want to go there, red-eyed fury. Anger was not permitted. Crying was mocked. Stifling and repressing negative emotions were a way of life. I even saw it in their relationship. It probably would’ve been easier to maintain an upbeat attitude if my childhood had not been suffused with constant, undeserved (although I’m sure I had it coming sometimes) criticism. The overriding lesson was: they dish it out, I have to take it, and I’m not allowed to even be upset about it.

So, I am probably hyper-sensitive to criticism and to being told how to feel. I think most women have to deal with this crap as a matter of course. We have to act nice, act like ladies. We have to make excuses for everyone else. Anybody gets to say anything they want about us and we’re supposed to not raise a stink about it. We are expected to be these nice, little, mousy, meek people. We are supposed to know our place. We are not supposed to get mad.

But as an adult, I have a right to my own fury, my own outrage, my own sadness. Do not tell me not to get mad, do not tell me to snap out of it, do not tell me I am making a big deal over nothing! I will get mad if I damn well please. I will bawl like a baby if I damn well please. I will make a scene if I damn well please. I will not be your definition of good, I will not tread lightly, I will not care what the neighbors think, I will not take this lying down!

All of this tends to boil up out-of-control whenever I hear “Don’t get mad”. So the other day, when Hubby came to me and said, “This may make you mad, but….”, I so disarmed and pleased that he might have been able to tell me that he was voting Republican, without damage to life or limb. He acknowledged that what he had to say may cause me to get mad and that my feelings were valid. If he hadn’t been on his way out the door to go to work, I would’ve shown my appreciation. Now, what was that I was supposed to get mad over? Who cares.

This entry was posted on Monday, February 25th, 2008 at 11:20 am and is filed under Living. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.