Quiet

Yesterday evening, I sat out on the back porch, watching the golds and oranges of twilight swiftly change over to the reds and purples and blues of the deepening night. It was quiet there--so very quiet--the first quiet I had seen or felt all week long. The air was cold and there was a breeze blowing in from the north. With the fall color change only halfway done, I was surprised to smell the first few whiffs of the cold, metallic winter to come.

I was angry. At myself. I had a tension headache, and was feeling overwhelmed. I had finally caved in to the not-so-nice darkly whispering voice inside my head. That voice, who sounds exactly like someone I hate, tells me awful things—things like, “Why don’t they ever listen to you, Sarah? Did you ever stop to think it’s because they have no respect for you?” Usually I have no problem pushing this voice out of mind without much conscious thought. When I feel overwhelmed, however, it’s another matter. That damned voice feeds and thrives off of my insecurities.

That voice finally won me over last night, and I ended up yelling at my guys—yelling for not cleaning up the bonus room like I had asked three times before. At Ant, for not putting his homework in his backpack, and using the excuse that I had not told him to do it. At K, for copping an attitude with me because I won’t let him go to a haunted house 45 minutes away with a whole bunch of kids I don’t know and a non-disclosed parent.

I absolutely hate being a yeller. I cannot begin to describe what it feels like to have a parent who yells at you every time that they chose to acknowledge your presence. I do everything within my power to NOT yell at my kids, but I was raised that way, and some days I feel like Sisyphus.

Why was I feeling overwhelmed? Well, there you will find the other reason why I was angry at myself. In all honesty, there’s no good reason for my being overwhelmed. Nothing horrible has happened to me or my family. In fact, there are many people around us who have wonderful news to share with their friends and family this week—new babies! Impending nuptials! Nothing horrifically difficult or pressing lies on the horizon. This week had just been incredibly busy—filled with the mundane and the not so mundane—dental appointments and homework and projects and lots of other randomness that is not even worthy of mention here.

In other words, nothing too big to handle.

It had its effect, however. There was dirty laundry strewn across every bedroom floor upstairs, and the bathrooms looked like war zones, and people had piled up FOUR loads of unfolded laundry in the laundry room, and the dishes—oh-my-god-the-freaking-dishes-in-the-sink!

That was the final straw, that was.

So, I sat. Outside. In the quiet darkening. Hating the nasty voice that reminds of the person I hate and angry with myself for giving in. Gulping fresh air and releasing the grimace on my face so that I could move to the next step of squashing that voice back down into my cerebrum where I can continue to ignore it, indefinitely.

I started to think of all of the wonderful things out there to anticipate: a date with my husband, a wedding to attend, with no obligation to wear some horrible bridesmaid dress, no less. A carefree day, completely void of plans and therefore open for the Ren Fest or pumpkin hunting or lazy football watching. Hours free to write blog posts with reckless abandon—which is becoming more and more enjoyable with each post.

I finally felt my breathing and my heart rate slow. I went in and settle the guys in for the night. I opened the windows wide, pushing them until they creaked, and then I settled down on the couch to relax while I waited for J to return home from work.

The breeze, tinged with the faint smell of winter, flowed through the house, cooling it down, airing it out, bringing the quiet in with it. Into my heart, as well.