Wow, how many times has this happened? A countless number, I'd imagine. I've gotten better about it, but in the past I was really reticent about expressing my feelings, especially the most emotional ones. I still wish I had spoken up the time when we had just moved to Georgia and I had a mini-breakdown at the roller rink watching my girls being ignored by their new classmates. I missed familiar people and places so much and was moved to tears as I questioned myself about what in the world we had done by moving our girls clear across the country. A kind woman spotted me and came over to ask what was wrong. I just couldn't open up to her at the time, and I brushed her off by vaguely answering, "Oh, it's nothing, I'll be OK."
Many times I've been so taken aback by a situation that I couldn't process the information fast enough to adequately put my feelings into appropriate words. One time in California I overheard one of my neighbors say that she didn't like her kids to play at my house because she felt that I didn't watch them well enough. This was a woman whose kids would show up at my house to play with my daughters uninvited, usually creating havoc in the process. Her son would ring the doorbell and boldly ask me for drinks and snacks. I was flabbergasted at her remark but couldn't trust myself to approach her and respond without anger. So I let the moment go and never did address it.
And then of course there are those times when I DID express my feelings, only to desperately wish I hadn't after it was too late. I remember the time I told my mom that my brother and I hadn't spoken to each other for a couple of years. I hadn't planned on divulging this information to her, but I blurted it out once when she asked one too many times if I had heard from Mike lately. I knew it was a mistake immediately as a troubled look crossed her face and she sharply asked me, "Why?" I responded in the simplest of terms, leaving out the details, and she didn't ask for them. The interesting thing was that a week or two later, she asked once again if I had heard lately from Mike, as though we never had that conversation. I'm not sure if her dementia was kicking in or if she had truly blocked out information that was painful for her. We never spoke about it again.
I've debated the problem of handling someone who's being rude without coming off as rude myself. I was once talking to a co-worker in my office when another co-worker came in and began whispering in her ear. I honestly don't think that had happened to me since junior high school days. My first instinct was to ask, "Didn't your mother teach you that it's rude to whisper in front of someone?" but I decided I'd be sinking down to her level. Instead I jokingly remarked, "If that's something juicy I wish you'd tell me too!" She looked at me straight-faced and said, "No, nothing juicy." Wow, my attempt at pointing out her rude, childish behavior apparently went right over her head! In hindsight, I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised.
Then there's the problem of thinking quickly enough to respond to deliberate zingers. There's nothing worse than standing there dumbfounded, your mind drawing a blank and your open mouth catching flies as you wait for a streak of brilliance to hit. So often the perfect comeback finally develops in my brain long after the train has left the station. Like the time I was wearing my leopard print heels at work and my boss remarked, "You must have thought a long time before you bought those shoes." Ouch! The answer I gave her was probably the safest and most honest: "No, actually I liked them right away!" But later I had to chuckle as I pictured her standing in front of me as she made that remark, wearing her red turtleneck sweater tucked into the high waistband of her jeans that came up almost to her boobs. I imagined myself cattily retorting, "Probably as long as it took you to buy those jeans back in 1975." Meow!
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