02/14/2024 - 9:26 p.m.

So I've given this some thought. Or maybe I just finally had a sudden insight...

For years I've been having these experiences where I'm telling a happy story -- and I choke up in mid-sentence. And it's a little embarrassing. I've been trying to figure out why...

Yesterday I was talking to someone about it, and it occurred to me that I do guard my emotions most of the time. It's a useful thing to do when you're online, but I started doing it before then. This is one of those melodramatic explanations where you reach back in time -- but I did have a pretty seriously dysfunctional encounter, many years ago...

Basically, I think that's what did it. When someone's yelling and yelling at you, and they just won't stop, and you're desperate for something that'll make it stop... You quickly think of what you can do. Maybe it's magic thinking, or desperation, but you think: maybe if I stop feeling proud, they'll have no reason to yell at me. Just for that moment, for that argument, when you're being yelled at -- you try to find that part inside you that's telling you to feel proud... And then stifle it. "That'll keep me safe," you tell yourself...

You've got to do something. You've got to try something. Maybe you even tell yourself it's working; pat yourself on the back for taking control of the situation. Or, yeah, maybe you just want to believe that's what you've done.

The problem is, when do you stop? Sure, the argument ended -- but what if you end up seeing that same person again? Shouldn't you keep this magical solution ready, just in case? It's something you can never explain to other people, but, yeah, you're walking through the world, not being too proud. Because it keeps you safe from being yelled at... Years go by. And down the road, you're a person telling a story about a celebrity, or a friend of yours who did something impressive and amazing. And you get to the part of the story where they say something cleverly jaunty or bemusedly cocky. And right when you get to that part of the story.... You find yourself choking up.

"It's like milk meeting vinegar," I said yesterday. But I gave it some more thought today, and I think I know what's happening. Somewhere inside of me is the thought that pride brings getting-yelled-at. It almost never comes up... because I just don't do it. (Staying safe; avoiding that whole dangerous sequence of events altogether.) But someone else who isn't me just goes there -- pride, cockiness, confidence, self-worth.... And so it only happens when I'm describing *their* happy ending. "Ohmigosh -- so much yelling-at could be triggered by this kind of thing. Don't you remember?" The memories occur, almost simultaneously. "The last time I tried to feel pride, there was a whole flood of yelling!"

Just not sure what I'm supposed to do next, now that I've figured all this out. Yes, my family really truly sucked. But isn't this where people say that if you can see the dragon, you can overcome it?

The only real problem is it's easier to just go on the way you've always gone on. (That's part of why I wanted to set this down in words, here on Diaryland...)

I guess there's a little more to the story. Why was it "feeling proud" that I was trying to get rid of (as opposed to some other emotion?) Because that's what they'd been yelling about -- or at least, that's why I was refusing to back down. There was a conversation back when I was 13 or so, and I never really got them to respect me. I waited probably 12 years, then tried standing up to them one last time. Basically, "I'm not going to do what you want, this time." I'm smart, and, hell, autonomous -- an individual, independent. You can't boss me around. It's almost funny, how much of a kerfluffle that made. But, yeah, that's where I point out how truly dysfunctional that family was. (This is actually a characteristic of dysfunctional families: that they really, really don't have a lot of flex for when someone tries to step out of their role.)

So to sum up: dysfunctional family. Really good to be out of it. I'm real real clear on that. Which is probably good -- means I won't have to worry that someday I'll slip up and find myself back in contact with these people.

And that means: I don't need to worry about it happening out in the real world. Maybe that's the other advantage of recognizing this is a dysfunctional-family thing. Because it's also very much limited to that very specific context. The one good thing is the brave, wide world is just ordinary people -- strangers -- most of whom would never ever presume to treat you that badly.

So you really don't need that magical protection. It's okay to be proud again. You're already safe. You were safe the moment you left your family behind. (Or, if you wanted to worry, you were safe when you got a job and made so much money that you could support yourself, and thus never ever have to worry about having to go back to that.)

The only funny thing is... It's like that part of my brain is rusty. When I try to go down that path -- try to "be proud of yourself" -- it's like a sore spot, where a band-aid used to be. I guess it's okay. There's an old saying from Mark Twain: that a cat who gets burned on a hot stove won't ever sit on a hot stove again.

But it will also never sit on a cold stove, either...