Last night it was this: "I am allowed to be mad. And I don't have to check with other people to see if the situation warrants it". I don't have to justify it. I also don't have to express it, but I do have to process it.
We, as girls, are taught by our society (through our peers) that it is not nice to know a lot. I have a reasonably high IQ - which may mean nothing, but it is the only standard measurement we have. Mine stands hovering around 132 (just tried a free online one and it says 141 - but they are notoriously high).
When I was an elementary school student I was a bit of a know-it-all. I've talked about this before. I was kind of like Hermione Granger. I knew stuff that other people didn't and I understood things more quickly. And even when I was wrong, I still thought I was right. This tends to piss people off.
So, in an attempt to have everyone (or at least some) people like me, I tried not to piss people off, and, in turn I tried to not get mad at them. Because there's no faster way to get someone mad at you than to be mad at them. But if I did get mad at someone, I tried not to. I tried not to express it. I tried not to be obnoxious. I tried not to feel it. And I would always try to get others' opinions on whether I was justified to be angry. The only exception to this was my sister - she got the brunt of my pent-up anger. Sorry, Sis!
I still do this. If I get mad at someone, I want to know if the situation warrants it. I ask other people. I want to know if I'm reacting properly (also has something to do with misperceptions caused by depression and anxiety). And I try to deny it - tending to believe that it is my mood disorder that is causing me to be angry, not the actual situation (which, sometimes, it is).
Well, you know what? I do not need to ask other people if I'm allowed to feel angry. I am. It's a natural emotion and I'm allowed to experience it. I'm allowed to process it. I don't necessarily need to express it, but I need to allow it.
Almost 50 years on the planet and still learning - that's what this life shit is all about.
BTW - while I am writing this, flowers and a hug arrive at my door - an unspoken apology and forgiveness. Life is always interesting.