I hear that there is this trait that some people possess, and it’s called grace under pressure. Let’s just say that I was born without that trait, and despite 34 years trying to attain it, it is still as elusive as ever.
And maybe it’s about time I just accept that. I will never be a calm, cool-headed, rational person in the heat of the moment. When things calm down, my rational side will return, and I can make wise decisions, but when chaos is breaking out, not so much.
When my eighteen month old lets out this bellowing, cackling screech for ten minutes straight, sounding like an injured hyena in labor, all because Daddy had to run into the gas station for a moment, I don’t keep my cool — I sit in the seat shaking, my blood pressure slowly rising as my nerves get frayed. I turn up the Christmas music to try to calm myself down, but every new screech sends a new shock through my system and I’m left with a racing mind and tense nerves.
When my four year old has headaches and stomach aches for a few weeks, I will eventually calm down and think things through and try to figure out a logical cause and solution (tension, dehydration, food intolerance), but in the immediate moment when I realize that it’s not just a quick, passing phase, I just might spend the next twenty four hours researching brain tumors, and walking around in a grey haze wondering how I would possibly survive should it turn out to be something serious. I might spend those twenty four hours seeing her as a broken little pony and mourning all the things I would miss to the point where it is hard to even function.
And when I call the doctor to make an appointment for my daughter, and they tell me it either has to be at the exact time as my necessary ultrasound (which can’t be rescheduled) or I will have to wait until the second week in January, I just might start crying on the phone to the complete stranger who schedules the appointments. And then when the nurse calls me back a few hours later to get me in at a special time, I just might be extremely embarrassed as she talks to me like I’m this emotionally fragile, crazy lady. Even though she has every reason to do so.
And no, none of that makes me normal. And none of that makes me the person I want to be. But it’s also just me.
I look around and it seems like everyone handles frustrations with such aplomb. They take things in stride and don’t lose their cool. I don’t know if that’s the case or if that’s either just what they portray it or how I perceive it. But either way, I guess it’s just about time that I stop wishing I could be like that.
I’m a little bit crazy. Take it or leave it. It’s the best I can be.