At a very young age I learned that anger was bad and led to destruction and disconnection. When my dad's anger turned toward me, I froze and drifted away to a place far away from that terrifying reality and that terror got stuck inside me. I remember coming home from teaching after having my second son. I snapped at my oldest four-year-old son in a frazzled moment. He looked me in the eyes and said, "Mama, you need to talk to me like when you first walked in the door." He was right. I hugged his tiny little body and said, "You are right, and I am so sorry for being short and snappy with you." I never wanted to be like my dad and lash out at my kids in anger, but when pressed beyond my capacity, I did. I said things I didn't mean in a tone that caused harm.
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