As far back as I can recollect, my emotions have always been hard to contain. My earliest memory of being frustrated was when I was 3 or 4 years old, and resulted in me chewing off all the fingers of my favorite doll. Both hands. I don’t know what prompted me, a toddler, to do such a drastic thing (someone had probably told me that terrible word, “No”) and I’ve often wondered what my parents must have thought back then. After all, their baby just maimed her own!
There are other extreme reactions I had in my younger years that I could relate–and maybe someday I will, because many of them are funny in retrospect and make for good stories–but my point in this essay is that controlling my emotions has always been a challenge. I knew it early on, but I had no idea how to cope. I’m sure my parents must have thought WTF? when it came to my behavior, but denial is a hallmark of ‘good’ Catholic families. My search for an answer definitely led to my choice of majors in college (Special Education, with an emphasis in behavior disorders and learning disabilities) and very probably my dependence on alcohol for self-medication.
In a nutshell, I’ve always had a problem “dialing it down.”
Fast forward fifty plus years. Seventy is knocking at the door. After shunning the religion of my family while still in my teens and being lukewarm at best in my faith throughout all my life, I’m now in a last ditch effort to make everything right with God. So, among other things, I’m working on my self. Being alcohol-free for more than a dozen years helps, but acknowledging that I was/am saved is what’s changing my attitude.
The Bible says God knows my heart, so yesterday He gave me a perfect opportunity to exercise controlling my emotions. I was in the binding off stage (aka, the END) of a knitting project I’ve been working on for weeks when the stitch fell off the needle.
The disbelief of what had happened made me freeze. I sensed anger welling up, and yet at the same time acknowledging that what had happened was because of something I had done. By the grace of God, I took a couple of deep breaths. That alone really helped.
For few minutes, I just sat still with the realization of what had happened, and facing the fact that there was no recovering it anytime soon, at least with the little bit of knitting knowledge that I have.
Here is where I think the Holy Spirit took over, because my own subsequent actions were SO uncharacteristic for me. I didn’t react like a banshee as has been the case previously, ripping the yarn off the needle in anger, or worse, taking a pair of scissors and instantly snipping it off without a second thought. Breathing deeply and slowly helped a lot. I felt sane. Two options came to mind.
One was to do nothing: just put it aside until we go back to Kentucky next week, and take it to my friend Gayla at the Wooden Needle, who would be able to fix my mistake easily. The other was to calmly take my project (3 skeins worth of yarn) off my needles and move on with life. ‘Calmly’ being the operative word.
I don’t know how long it took–10 minutes, max–but I chose the latter. It was heartbreaking to do, since I’d worked on this project for weeks and that it was 99.98% finished. But I know me. Doing that was easier than the torture of seeing ‘what might have been’ languishing day after day.
Self-flagellation tried rearing its ugly head, and with it the need to escape–another theme that’s characterized my life. I was amazed at my own observance; it was as thought I had an out of body experience. All I knew was that I had to get out of the RV. So we went to Silver Dollar City!
This decision was not entirely as impulsive as it might seem. It was something we about doing while we were here if the opportunity presented itself. And it had, albeit in a very unexpected way. So we spent the day walking around one of the best amusements parks in America, seeing the sights and wandering through the shops. It was sunny but very windy, so the only ride Dave would go on with me was the carousel, but that was okay. The thought of riding a roller coaster with 34 mph winds seems like tempting fate.
Unbeknownst to me, I’d unwittingly practiced a technique of regulating emotionally charged responses known by its acronym STOP, where one recognizes a certain trigger, Stops, Takes a breath, Observes, and then Proceeds mindfully. All I do know is that my reaction might st have been Divinely choreographed.
The change in character has taken more time than I would have liked, but at least it’s happening. Year by year and day by day, I’m seeing changes in my self, mostly for the better. I’m grateful for the change in my attitude!
See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” Isaiah 43:19
