If I’m being honest with you, I don’t even remember what I was mad about. I’m sure, given the time (read: quarantine) it was something inane, something mildly annoying on a normal day yet downright excruciating on a quarantine one. But I really can’t remember the details.
I do recall that I was sitting on the couch, in my little corner, all curled up in a ball, legs tucked in, arms crossed, most likely a defensive position. I know I was staring into space, not really focusing. I’m sure my un-Botoxed eyebrows were knitting up a cardigan, too. And I remember Connor, sitting on the opposite side of the couch. He was in my peripheral vision, snacking on some Goldfish, trying, unsuccessfully, to have a conversation. Clearly, in my state of agitation, I wasn’t having any of it, leaving him high and dry on his many attempts to engage. So, he finally gave up, just stood up, and walked away. But not before he said this:
‘Why don’t you ever make eye contact when you’re mad?”
Dang. Stop the presses. Why’s he gotta be so smart?
The kids was right, though, because I was NOT making eye contact. It wasn’t a mistake or an accident. I was purposely and willfully refusing to look in his direction; it was an active avoidance. I was basically a pouting 5-year-old in a 41-year-old body. And apparently, because my kid has picked up on it, it’s not a one-time thing. This is my pattern of behavior.
Eventually, I looked over at my son, this wise-beyond-his-years observer of Mommy’s tics and weirdness, and said “I don’t know.”
And that’s the truth. I really don’t know why I do this. It’s as much a mystery to me as it is to everyone else. But because I’m trying to be a better person and evolve and blah, blah, blah, I figured I might as well put on my big girl pants to try and figure out why.
Now, I’m nowhere near enlightened yet. I haven’t figured it out completely, but after some soul searching and hard self-analysis I have come to a few conclusions. Yes, they’re about me, but when I think about them I’m pretty sure they’re not just about me. They’re about a lot of us. Yes, especially us women-folk who have been raised to be sugar and spice and everything nice.
So, of course, I thought I’d share.
I realize now that anger makes me feel deep shame. I’m afraid of being angry. It’s an emotion I don’t want to associate with, mostly because it’s ugly and somehow in my mind, equates to bitchiness and aggressiveness and every single thing I’ve never wanted to be. I feel anger, yes, but when I do, I work really, really hard to keep a lid on it. I hold it in, try to avoid it, pretend that it’s ok. I strive to make peace instead of war, all the time. Even if maybe a little bit of war is warranted to make things right.
It’s not that I don’t feel anger. Ask my kids. They’ll tell you that I get angry often and well. I have been known to yell. I used to be a door-slammer (just ask Jeff) though age and time have taken some of the fire out of me. I can get angry and express it, loudly.
But immediately following anger, the shame sets in. I feel ashamed for the way I acted, even if I was right and just in my anger and handled it well. In my mind, my anger immediately negates the validity of my feelings and I almost always assume the position of shame. It’s the perfect get out of jail free card for anyone in a relationship of any kind with me. Make me angry and you’ll get an apology, eventually.
Licensed therapists, I’m expecting your call.
But here’s the deal. I think it all comes down to how I was raised. And no, I don’t necessarily mean within my nuclear family. My mom was a yeller for sure, she was high emotion and high reaction. She’s from Jersey, after all. I didn’t love this as a kid but it wasn’t emotionally scarring or damaging in any way.
{flash forward to my own motherhood journey: I totally get it. Sorry, Mom. I get it.}
But I really don’t think that this is it. I have an incredible relationship with my mom today and don’t think my upbringing was any different than the rest of my (incredibly awesome) 1980s contemporaries.
What I really mean by this, though, is how we raise girls in general. We raise them to believe that being angry or aggressive or forthright is masculine, not feminine. It’s the opposite of nice.
And we desperately want our girls to be nice. Desperately.
The cynic in me (read: old lady) thinks this is because nice girls rarely make waves. They don’t question when something isn’t right or when their gut tells them it’s off. They’re too concerned with how you’re feeling and how you’re feeling about their niceness to actually follow their God-given intuition and, heaven forbid, show some anger. This allows the world to continue on as it always has, with the same people in power making the same decisions over and over again.
Now, the realist in me says this is probably not true. It’s probably a feminist conspiracy theory we can debunk with a quick Google search. I get that. But it still stands true that women are socialized to be nice. If boys are aggressive and assertive they are labeled as strong leaders. If girls are, they’re labeled bossy, mean and, even worse, the dreaded b-word. We internalize this. We want to be nice, to be kind (they’re not the same thing, btw). We don’t want to make waves.
So all of this leads me back to that moment on the couch when my son, all 11 years’ worth of life experience under his belt, called me on my nonsense and put me in the position of owning my anger, not avoiding it until it goes away.
So here’s the deal, ladies, we’ve got some work to do, both internally so we can stop being eye-contact avoidant doormats but also socially so our daughters don’t grow up emotionally stunted.
I’m not saying I know how yet, I’m still working that part out, but I am saying it starts with us.
We need to teach girls that anger is nothing to be ashamed of, that, in fact, when handled well and appropriately it’s actually part of healthy relationships with flawed humans. We need to teach them that being nice is not always the best thing and that someone else’s comfort level is not more important than our own. We need them to understand and recognize when a boundary has been crossed and learn how to handle it appropriately, to be grace-filled yet still able to call people to the floor. This isn’t a license to go around like a maniac ala Britney Spears at a gas station, but it is a lesson about owning our emotions, all of them, and handling them so they don’t handle us.
Also, stop avoiding eye contact. It’s creepy.
Easy Mediterranean Shrimp and Olives
Ok, enough of my soapbox. Hopefully, if you’re not into the story you’ve already skipped down. Good for you! If not, thanks for coming along.
So this recipe for Easy Mediterranean Shrimp and Olives is one of my favorites and I honestly can’t believe it’s taken me this long to share it. I am obsessed with easy shrimp meals; that is probably clear by now. But what I like about this one is its versatility. I love to make this for Jeff and me on a weekend and enjoy it as a little snack instead of a heavy dinner. It’s perfect served with pita for dipping alongside a nice crisp glass of wine. But, it could also be a great meal paired over pasta or alone. It’s versatile, fun, and desperately easy. Totally my favorite kind of recipe.
This Easy Mediterranean Shrimp and Olives is definitely a meal for the olive lovers in your life. The briny saltiness of the capers and the olives make it incredibly delicious. But because there is already a lot of natural saltiness from them, I highly suggest you go light on the extra salt as you cook, making last-minute adjustments before serving if you think it needs more. You can always add, you can never take away. So be judicious in your use. I’ve used both stock and white wine to add liquid to the pan and both work beautifully, so use what you’ve got. Don’t stress on this one, it’s an easy recipe which I very rarely measure, just play with it. It’s easy and forgiving and the perfect recipe for your weekend.
Peace, love, and anger,
Meg
Easy Mediterranean Shrimp and Olives
Ingredients
- 1 1/2 pounds of shrimp, peeled and deveined
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 tablespoon capers, roughly chopped
- 2 tablespoon kalamata olives, roughly chopped
- 1 pint cherry tomatoes, halved
- 2 tablespoons Italian parsley, minced
- splash stock & wine
- quartered pita bread, for dipping
Directions
- Step 1 In a large skillet, heat a layer of olive oil until it shimmers on medium-high heat.
- Step 2 As the oil is heating up, pat the shrimp dry with paper towels and season on both sides with salt and pepper.
- Step 3 Add shrimp in an even layer and cook, without stirring, for 3 minutes or until pink. Continue cooking, stirring, until cooked through.
- Step 4 Remove from pan and set aside on a plate.
- Step 5 Add a splash more of oil to the pan and add tomatoes and garlic, season with salt and pepper.
- Step 6 Cook 1-2 minutes or until tomatoes are nearly blistering.
- Step 7 Add capers, olives, and parsley to the pan, stirring well.
- Step 8 Cook, 2-3 minutes or until flavors are combined and shrimp is completely cooked, adding splashes of stock if the pan seems dry.
- Step 9 Sprinkle with a touch more parsley and salt and pepper if desired.
- Step 10 Serve immediately with lots of pita for dipping.
For more shrimp dishes, check out these recipes:
Welcome to BurntToast! My name is Meaghan, and this is my safe space, a place where we can share stories, share recipes and share life. It’s my dream that you can come here, kick your shoes off and pour yourself a glass of wine while you read, laugh, and maybe even hop into the kitchen. This is my heart, for all of you to see. And ALL are welcome here.