Sometimes I feel like I am a screaming banshee, an angry frustrated voice, more and more convinced of the logic of my own argument, moving closer and closer to storming out of the room, sending a reactive email, a furious text message or popping expletives out of my mouth. Why can others not see the clarity of my point of view?
What plays a role in this? Is it menopausal hormonal swings? Is it the assertiveness of finally being over fifty and damned if I can't speak my mind? Is it another stage of growing up, of giving up being the compliant dutiful angel, and giving reign to what I really think? The more sure I am of my own rightness, the more unlikely I will be to care of others vulnerabilities or concerns, listen, or be quiet. But as sure as hell, thoughts and feelings are ripping out of my head and heart. Words are swarming in my head, as I walk. Trying to pay attention to breath and pace, I write poems of rage, assertion, counter-arguments. I pause on a crossing mid-walk, and try to imagine: what could it be like if I did not work in this environment, if I made the choice to leave and not have this turmoil of adrenalin in my body? If I could feel more peace and contentment, more stability and less uncertainty, more often?
A session with my coach leaves me with more insight: having had the space to assess what's happening, I have some options to try. A body-talk session, a hormonal test, and listening to a body talk presentation. The journey continues.
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