Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Tasmanian Devil vs. Mama Bear
I tried to think of clever and entertaining ways to evict these ramblings from my mind and make room for new tenants, but I couldn’t. The thing is that I’m too upset and the situation is too fresh for any witty repartee. (And no, not The Situation, although his punk ass would be way easier to handle).
There’s a person who I’m forced to co-exist with, and I do not like it. At all. This person’s energy is like a freakish cyclone, not in a physical way, but in a manipulative, pushy kind of way. I would describe this overwhelming and domineering person to the Tasmanian Devil. I’m not usually a sheep that follows the herd, but in the person’s presence, I’ve been known to exhibit some uncharacteristic behavior, such as putting my credit card number on sketchy websites or committing to social events that were not in the best interest in my family. All because I allowed myself to get swept up in the Taz’s flurry of energy. I started to notice this was getting out of control when Taz was getting all self-entitled and ownership-y with my babes. MY BABES!! My Mommy Alarm System started sounding off, subtly at first and then LOUD, RED FLASHING ALARMS AND LIGHTS. Taz met its match when it messed with Mama Bear. Then I started to say no. Often, but not in a confrontational way (because I knew it would be wasted breath, and I just wanted some space without a discussion). I redefined my personal boundaries and honored my gut feelings. However, recently, I started to let this person back in because I thought my shiny, new, boundaries were not only strong enough, but were clearly communicated. My hope was we could move forward in a healthier direction. So I give an inch, and Taz wants the whole damn mile. Or 10. Or whatever. That’s when it occurred to me that Taz might have a hard time hearing with all that spinning and destruction.
So to put it bluntly, I’m pissed. I’m pissed that Taz can’t or won’t understand personal space and comfort zones. I’m pissed that a Mama Bear doing her job looks like The Bitch. I’m even more pissed that I care how I am perceived.
So there, People, Mama Bear is angry. So angry, it’s blocking my creative juices from flowing. ROAR! Now excuse me while I either harmoniously work out with my Wii Sports Active Trainer or defy her by indulging my anger in some Ben and Jerry’s Marzipan Mission ice cream.
Please, People, offer me some words of enlightenment on how you deal with your own personal Tasmanian Devil!