Cooking a la Anger

Hello and welcome to the last Saturday before the holiday season really kicks into high gear (whether you're ready or not) here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is December 16th.

Woo-wee! The countdown is ON and the pressure is building. How are YOU?

To bring any new readers up to speed, for December, I'm spending a few quiet moments reflecting on some of the lesser-embraced emotions that the holidays tend to pull out of us - awakening raw emotions we are usually pretty good at stuffing deep down into the toe of our Christmas stockings, thank you very much - to say, hey, it's okay to feel these things.

The first Saturday of December I wrote about untangling the Yarn of Disappointment, Last week, I wrote about being Frazzled Like a Frazzled Thing. This week is all about anger. Here's what mine tends to look like:

T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the house...
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings weren't hung.
Nope, not the lights.
The Christmas tree was still standing in the garage not the house,
Because my husband decided to change the oil in the Jetta and put on the winter tires, because, hey, it needs to get done, and now he has time, and anyway we have a whole day to put up the tree, so what's the rush?

Um...did I mention it was the night before Christmas??

This is what it's like at our house.

On the one hand, I love that we hold our horses and hold off to blast the Christmas trumpet until Christmas Eve. But, on the other hand, I continue to be amazed by the depths of rage and crankiness that come forth like Hackenkracks from the bowels of my frustration.

Please tell me you can relate - just a little bit - before I bare my soul.

Holding it emotionally together is in proportion to how well I've prepared for the holiday.  That is to say, the more prepared I am, the less likely I'll get cranked out. Inversely, the less prepared I feel, the faster rage-y dark blobs burst before my eyes and I literally see mini red explosions.

It's also in proportion to other people's doing - as in no one is doing anything. "No one" is my favorite person. Who cleaned off the counters? No one. Who vacuumed the downstairs? No one. Who is helping me? No one!

Every Christmas Eve, I start the day with cheeriness, thinking, "This year will be different." I make my to-do list, turn on the Christmas carols, and will myself to only focus on my list and not get agitated or judgy about how my husband is progressing with the Christmas tree. After all, I've got fish to bread, potato salad to assemble, and Christmas cookies left to bake, decorate, and plate. My mantra as I move through my tasks: I WILL not get pissed. I will NOT get pissed. I will not GET pissed. I will not get PISSED!

And here, a note to readers, I don't mean the drunken variety of "getting pissed" which, now that I think about it, might be a better solution than what I really mean, which is to get mad.

I'm poking a little fun here, but that's only because it's easier to poke fun than it is to peer into the volcano of burbling lava that is my anger. Anger is my insides shrieking and exploding with injustice and betrayal - a sense of being wronged that boils and curdles hurt into spewy chunks of all the lesser-embraced emotions - disappointment, anxiety, grief, frustration, exhaustion - that force up through my guts and blow.

It's a serious emotion that has consequences, first for myself, then for others.

The holidays put me in a position of not knowing what to do with this thick toxic stew of yuck that's been concocted and simmering in the Instant Pot of my soul. The holiday cheer and joviality plastered in windows and brightly lit in snowy front yards, tells me it's not absolutely not okay to release the pressure valve of this hot, bubbly mess. Yet, like a really bad fart, I'm not sure I can hold it until after the holidays to release the steam and pressure in peace and privacy. Then when I do blow, the anger splatters the walls, the fancy dishes, and all my loved ones, filling the room with inedible discomfort and regret.

It's better to spend the holidays alone, you might think.

What's it like for you?

Is anger cooking up in another form? Perhaps a slow, slurry brew of pent-up dread at the prospect of spending time with people you're supposed to love but manage to get on your every single last nerve?

Or maybe you just zap all the crap in the microwave and blow on the black popcorn of certainty that you absolutely are not looking forward to spending time with people who do not make you feel good about yourself. People you loathe. People who have not apologized. People who have hurt you. And no, no good tidings or comfort and joy are going to make it all better - no how, no way - so just stuff a sock in it, buddy, and stop trying to make me feel merry when I definitely am not.

Any shared reality yet, dear reader?

Whatever your version of anger cooking in your Instant Pot, take this week to look at it and say, "Yeah, this is what I've got cooking this week." It is what it is and, as I told my 4th grade church school class last week, "It's okay to feel all the feels."

(P.S. If you feel like you want to make something useful - maybe even edible, if not tasty - out of your anger, check out Kathy Magnusson's 4-part Unwrapping Peace series over at her Wildewood Learning blog.)