(Shared with consent from my son.)
A few days ago, as I was navigating a confluence of triggering factors inside my system—from hormonal to astrological to unsettling collective unrest, I found myself in rare form.
Having chosen an extension for filing my 2024 taxes, I sat at the dining room table, staring at a mess of receipts, bills, dollar amounts, and bank statements chronicling the financial story of a uniquely challenging and emotionally loaded year.
Suddenly, my phone rang, and falsely assuming it would be a simple, brief exchange related to my business, I chose to answer it. But instead, the person went on and on, and I struggled to exit the conversation in a skillful way.
By the time I hung up, more than thirty minutes later, I felt somewhat trespassed, agitated, and inflamed.
Just then, my 16-year-old son came downstairs, innocently oblivious to my state of mind, and asked for my attention to a matter that immediately intensified my irritation and overwhelm. I snapped at him, dismissively and reactively, in response.
I felt the sharp pain of it as soon as it happened. Amazingly, he didn’t react in turn. He looked a little worried and then quietly retreated, like a young animal who had been growled at.
