Safety In Numbers
Entry by: Alobear
4th August 2016
Safety In Numbers
One, two - breathe in…
Three, four - breathe out…
Five, six - breathe in…
Seven, eight - breathe out…
Eyes closed, I focus inward, counting slowly and allowing the process of breathing to fill my mind. Gradually, the fog in my head starts to recede. I imagine my thoughts as clouds, drifting through the sky of my consciousness and disappearing without interfering with my day. I feel my fingers beginning to unclench, and I will my hands to drop to my sides.
I really mustn’t let him get to me like this. I made my decision long ago that I would accept him as he is, since I know expecting anyone to change for you is a road to severe disappointment. But a conscious decision to allow the situation to continue, even with a raft of rational arguments to support it, is a very different thing to not allowing my emotions to get the better of me.
My reaction to any minor annoyance is still to instantly fly into a rage. My heartbeat speeds up, anger descends through my brain to cover my vision with a red-tinged filter that precludes sensible thought. Muscles tense, and the desire to scream builds until it nearly chokes me. The only thing I can do is blow up - or try to find some space and take a moment to think things through.
Why is it that negative thinking and behaviour comes so naturally as to be automatic? In the present, civilised world of media overload, over-abundance of choice, and cliche-induced ennui, our lizard brains are unable to cope and present us with fight responses that are wholly inappropriate in our ordered lives.
My poor, dear husband has little or no idea what provokes my outbursts. Luckily, his general obliviousness often lets me get away with an almost-explosion without him even noticing. That, at least, gives me the opportunity to activate a more positive response and work at it until it finally sinks in and lets me return to the ranks of rational human beings.
Until, of course, the next time he inadvertently sets me off, and all the instant anger signs rush to control me once again. But there’s safety in numbers.
One, two - breathe in…
Three, four - breathe out…
Five, six - breathe in…
Seven, eight - breathe out…
One, two - breathe in…
Three, four - breathe out…
Five, six - breathe in…
Seven, eight - breathe out…
Eyes closed, I focus inward, counting slowly and allowing the process of breathing to fill my mind. Gradually, the fog in my head starts to recede. I imagine my thoughts as clouds, drifting through the sky of my consciousness and disappearing without interfering with my day. I feel my fingers beginning to unclench, and I will my hands to drop to my sides.
I really mustn’t let him get to me like this. I made my decision long ago that I would accept him as he is, since I know expecting anyone to change for you is a road to severe disappointment. But a conscious decision to allow the situation to continue, even with a raft of rational arguments to support it, is a very different thing to not allowing my emotions to get the better of me.
My reaction to any minor annoyance is still to instantly fly into a rage. My heartbeat speeds up, anger descends through my brain to cover my vision with a red-tinged filter that precludes sensible thought. Muscles tense, and the desire to scream builds until it nearly chokes me. The only thing I can do is blow up - or try to find some space and take a moment to think things through.
Why is it that negative thinking and behaviour comes so naturally as to be automatic? In the present, civilised world of media overload, over-abundance of choice, and cliche-induced ennui, our lizard brains are unable to cope and present us with fight responses that are wholly inappropriate in our ordered lives.
My poor, dear husband has little or no idea what provokes my outbursts. Luckily, his general obliviousness often lets me get away with an almost-explosion without him even noticing. That, at least, gives me the opportunity to activate a more positive response and work at it until it finally sinks in and lets me return to the ranks of rational human beings.
Until, of course, the next time he inadvertently sets me off, and all the instant anger signs rush to control me once again. But there’s safety in numbers.
One, two - breathe in…
Three, four - breathe out…
Five, six - breathe in…
Seven, eight - breathe out…
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