The Fourth of July was bubbling with fun, except the booming firecrackers scared my dogs to death. Willie trembled as we hid in my bedroom, TV turned up, trying to muffle the sounds outside. I don’t want to be a party pooper, but what’s up with the bombs bursting in air? Does this make us feel free and safe?
God bless America, but couldn’t we have something peaceful instead? Why we going ballistic while celebrating instead of having a ball?
Doesn’t the world rumble enough? Reading about a past incident in Rwanda this morning
and a little girl curled in a corner of a bathroom for days in horror as her mother and father are chopped into pieces outside the door, I admit – I’m worried about the world. What’s going to happen to us? Fighting never ends, in families or between countries.
Why do we celebrate with the sound of cannonballs? What’s at the root of all this anger? Some say, power, others say money and I also believe there is a hidden voice inside us, the insidious but sometimes subtle voice of the critic. This inner anger lashes out everywhere. Even as I sit here, I think my butt is too big for the chair. I have learned this awful self-talk from family and culture.
The inner critic gets on my case, but it’s also projected onto others, causing us to judge, blame and inflame. I saw it so clearly this week; I parked my car on the Sonoma Square in the heat of summer while on the phone with a friend. A loud Harley pulled up next to me. I joked to Sara; “Whew, this guy is loud, what’s that about? Can you still hear me?” We giggled as I mentioned Freudian ideas, saying “why does this guy need such a loud Harley?”
He was sweating in the pulsing heat. I shriveled as I got out of the car, dogs in tow while I watched him blow up, pumped up, about his new paint job. I had just missed his motorcycle by a few inches when I opened my car door. (Hey, I’m an old biker chic, so this is not personal.)
Fortunately, I had been reading religious stuff all week, so I gasped a deep breath and thought about anger and how we get crotchety when we don’t feel loved or seen. I pondered for that brief second, how we huff and puff when our hairballs are stuffed inside (those sticky balls of fur in our throats, like cats get, congestion of pent up fear or frustration) because we don’t feel heard or validated. I whispered, gently: “Just relax.” He kept railing at me, and for good reason – his motorcycle was painted impeccably – but I felt as though he “got” my compassion and we both walked away. Later he sat near me in a pub, and peace resided.
The inner tyrant is like the recent Supreme Court, rigid, fearful, power hungry and unkind. Sometimes, the critic is even intelligent and fierce, so well hidden that I have to call a friend even to hear the voice to relieve the churning in my stomach. (I usually know it’s there because it makes me feel helpless and tired.) Within the bowels of the body, this dark self-doubt is dangerous.
So, are the world’s problems inside or outside us? I suspect both.
The critic inside causes us to judge each other, to make ourselves small, to stop creative activities, get constipated or feel flat. The big guns inside us may be at the bottom of much divorce or war.
We have to own up to it. We can’t entirely blame the world if we don’t see our own evil. Sometimes we are pulled, like puppets by its force, to hate, kill, maim, alienate or isolate.
Oh, what would it be like to unburden our world of rage, to love ourselves and each other and listen well instead? Those are the kind of fireworks I’d like to see.
Katy Byrne, MFT, Psychotherapist in Sonoma specializes in conflict resolution, couples communication, eating disorders, life transitions and the kitchen sink. Author, “The Courage To Speak Up.”
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