Tuesday night, I took a rare evening to go to a girls’ night out organized by my friend, Jill. She puts them together on a pretty regular basis, but I have never gone. I always feel guilty about leaving Sean to deal with getting all of the kids to bed and whatnot. Tuesday, though, I decided at the last minute that I wanted to go.
I’m so glad that I did.
There is just really something to be said for an evening of positive estrogen interaction when you live in an all-testosterone home. I never realize just how much I need that female interaction and conversation until I get a chance to sit down and socialize. It did my soul good.
Of course, I spent yesterday feeling like nature was trying to restore the balance that was obviously thrown out of whack by my thour0ughly enjoyable evening.
I woke up yesterday morning fighting a headache. I spent the morning fighting one son who didn’t feel like concentrating on his school work and another who didn’t feel like playing away from where we were trying to do school. Every time I turned around, I felt like I was fighting against a different challenge or annoyance (missing hairbrush, broken toddler bed, kids trying to operate power tools…).
By the time lunch was over, I was on the verge of the state that I describe as being “inside out”—that feeling like someone has put my skin on backwards, so that every nerve is exposed. It was in this state that I sat down to my computer to read and relax once my kids were settled in for naps and quiet time.
Instead, I found myself fighting an anger that literally had my body shaking.
And you know what? I’m sick of fighting. I’m tired of fighting to stop the fighting.
I found myself searching the online archives of my church’s monthly magazine looking for guidance? justification? something that applied to how I felt. And honestly, it wasn’t hard to find.
Permission to stop fighting.
I’m not talking about guidance to walk away from the individual fights. That’s always the best thing to do. I’m talking about permission to just walk away. To refuse to engage. To protect myself by removing the opportunity to fight. And to not feel guilty for acknowledging that it’s no longer worth the toll that fighting takes.
So, that’s where I am. It’s not where I want to be, but it’s where I feel that I need to be. It’s time I fight for myself instead of being consumed by fighting.