Sometimes it's really hard to be a grownup. I don't mean it's hard being a grownup. I mean it is hard to maintain my emotional integrity as an adult when circumstances and events threaten to transform me into a sniveling six year old.
Today, something happened. It was a small thing, really. I was already feeling vulnerable (perhaps it was hormones, perhaps it was facing the mammogram machine for my annual screening, perhaps it dealing with the bureaucratic red tape that stands between me and my degree, perhaps it was the way the moon and stars are aligned...I don't know). Someone said something (or was it what they didn't say) and suddenly I had tears in my eyes. I felt small and insignificant. They didn't hear me. I didn't matter. I was six years old again. There was nothing to do but cry. The tears were the path back to my grownup self, back to a place where I can stand up for myself and ask for what I need.
I've heard it said that children are prisoners of circumstance. Freedom is the best thing about being a grownup. I just have to remember to choose it.
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