Tuesday, September 9, 2014

A Woman of Extremes

I am a woman of extremes.  I have said it before, and will repeat it here because while I love this about myself, I also find it intensely frustrating.  I am either all in or out completely.  Growing up, I was either in love or icy-cold.  I could end a relationship without a tear if I had decided it was over.  I couldn’t understand why the other person needed time to process, or wanted to talk about it first.  I had decided, and that was enough.  Someone once told me I would leave a trail of discarded corpses behind me.  I didn’t get it then.  I do now.
I am all passion with my children.  They see and hear my every emotion.  I am overjoyed at their triumphs, and dismayed and angered by their weaknesses.  When my daughter acts like the 4 ½ year old she is, when she has accidents though she was one room away from the bathroom, when she throws tantrums because she does not get enough sleep, my first emotion is anger.  I know this is not helpful, and yet, there it is.  This is true with my students as well.  When a student plagiarizes a paper in my class, I feel hurt and betrayed.  I speak frankly to them and share my disappointment as well as my anger.  We had a deal.  You broke it.  I expect that they understand, and feel remorse.  It is a contract.  I cannot understand them not holding up their end of the bargain.  It happens again and again and yet I am mystified and enraged every time.  I air all of my feelings.  Otherwise I will carry them with me.  They will lodge themselves within my organs until I feel bloated and explosive. 
In most cases, I can rationalize my emotional reactions.  Mostly because I love as strongly as I anger.  My pride in my children, my happiness for my friends always outweighs the negative.  My daughter draws a beautiful picture and I hug her tightly and praise praise praise.  My student finally feels safe enough to raise her hand in class and I will cheer (silently so as not to embarrass her), praise the response (whatever it may be), and smile at her until her confidence soars.  But I also excuse my over-reactions to the moment to moment, because I can’t, and have never been able to, hold a grudge.  My anger is a quick blue flame.  Once the air is cleared the flame goes out. 
In my professional life, my extremes can be a nuisance.  I hold high expectations for everyone around me and am disappointed when they fail to achieve them.  But in meetings, I am the person who gets the glares.  Because I can never be merely present anywhere.  I need to be involved.  In meetings, even the ones I don’t care about, I feel an itch to raise my hand, to voice an opinion, to be a part (or if we’re really being honest), to be in charge.  Even as I start to speak, I can sense my co-workers’ rage.  “If she shuts up, we can leave!”  But if I do not talk, it is worse.  If I do not aid in the presentation in some way, I will be forced to detract from it.  I will gossip in the back of the room.  I will let the negativity roll over my table and myself.  I will get angry at the time that is being sucked from my life.  I am a woman of extremes, after all.  It is much better for everyone if I am involved in a positive way.   
I look at my parents and I get it.  My mom is all passion and fire.  My father, all intellect and strength.  My mother walks into a room and owns it.  My father hangs back and surveys it, making Seinfeldian observations to himself and wishing he were home.  He finds the people he knows.  She finds people to know.  They are opposites in so many ways but have supported and strengthened each other for 45 years.  I have taken the best and worst from both and made them my own. 

So, yes.  I am a woman of extremes.  I hope to never be anything less.

No comments:

Post a Comment