Anger and I have always had a tense relationship. I can pop like a champagne cork and yet not be left with the sweetness of the bubbly.
It scares me in the people I love-especially when it’s directed at me. But I am learning from it. I am learning to face it-to throw open the door and let it wash over me in the hopes that it will crash to the shore and leave me refreshed.
I’m not there yet-it leaves me bedraggled, crawling from shore, gasping for breath. I imagine some would argue, that at least I am breathing.
I was at a seminar, where the speaker encouraged us to invite whatever perceived troubling emotion/situation we were having, to sit down at a metaphoric table with us and talk to it over a cup of tea.
Why do I feel like I am the one drinking the hot arsenic??