My parents fought. Or, rather, my father screamed and ranted, my mother spoke low and cried a lot. Whatever I see that as now, as a child, I saw an aggressor and a victim. I was terrified of people out of control. Hated yelling and belligerent behaviour.
The Army training, which is to say Drill Sergeants, was different. Such professional shouting, in iron control, impersonal. Got my adrenaline going, but did not hit that childhood sore spot. I learned to stand and take it calmly, quite easily. It was part of a voluntary deal. I chose to enlist, and knew Basic would be hard, and had agreed to the terms of the game. In effect, I had given my permission, so I was in control, even during those two months when I had no control over what I wore, ate, or how much sleep I lost. Like going on a roller coaster, I had a choice. I now emulate my Drill Sergeants, and raise my voice for volume only, tightly controlled, emotionless - in as much as possible in a given situation.
When I am truly frustrated and stressed, I get very quiet, or cannot speak at all. Then someone will invariably say,
"Are you ok?" softly and sympathetically. I crumble. Involuntarily, and shaming, my voice chokes and my face blotches red, the tears pour. I do my damnedest keep calm, to hide, I ask witnesses to ignore it. I walk away if I can, or get back to work, get busy. I find the tears dry up if I am allowed to simply keep going. I blame allergies for the red face and stuffy nose, to non-witnesses. I would never cry again, if I had any control over it.
I was weighed down by hostility, baffled by angry people, especially if they had any say in my life. I slid out, conceded, ran, quit. It was easier, and I had little idea how else to act, when chaos stared at me. I hated feeling like a victim.
I learned how to confront, how to, as the pamphlets say "Deal with difficult people" from a patient in a nursing home. She had a long history of schizophrenia, decades institutionalized, a selfish and brutal version of intelligence, angry manipulative, no doubt a very effective self defence mechanism. I had to take care of her. Warned about her, I stood my ground, tried to 'stay on her side' and appear to assume good intentions on her part, was consistently kind and insistent. While shivering in my sneakers. Over the course of a year, she came to trust me and depend on me, often only doing something (like not yelling at her roommate) because "Nurse says so." I never stopped being afraid of her. I never liked her. But I credit her challenges with my becoming steadfast, and firmly insisting.
I use all of these techniques at work, but only a few surgeons have ever lost control -at- me. Yelling in the room doesn't count. Getting in my face does. The first, and worst, I no longer deal with. I figured out that when he yelled "Shut Up!" - he knew I was right. I feel dragged down by those who elicit my contempt, a reaction, a judgement I avoid as mutually destructive. Childish bullying from professionals is deeply frightening.
I watch COPS! with a clinical eye, examining how police deal with angry, drunk, out of control folks. I've had a lot of my own experience reinforced by that show. (That is my justification for the voyeurism, and I'm sticking to it.)
There is a scene in one of the Sharpe's series, where Sharp asks his newest recruits, "I know you can fire three rounds a minute, but CAN YOU STAND?" Then fires cannon over their heads. It's a funny bit. When I must argue, I stay very calm. I fight fair. I listen. I will confront. I will stand. But that cannon still goes off inside my head.
7 comments:
belligerence, needlessly being aggressive or contemptous are traits which i find OFFENSIVE!!!
i use to be terribly scared of my father as he has a bad temper, mellowed down now. when i marry, i want a man who doesnt 'scare' me with his temper.
It's interesting how our childhoods shape how we react as adults. One sister and I often talk about how we fear silence in a man. Our father never shouted. He just became silent, and stayed silent for weeks, even months. That frigid, intensely hateful quiet creeps both of us out. We'd rather have a shouting match.
I had a melanoma removed from my temple by a brilliant but temperamental surgeon some years ago. I'll never forget listening to him swear at his nurse at the top of his voice moments before wielding a scalpel by my eye. When I had breast cancer three years later, I chose not to get reconstruction. He was the only plastic surgeon in town covered by my insurance at the time. I chose not to get reconstruction for different reasons, but I'm glad I didn't have to go under his knife, knowing that he despised women the way he does.
Thing is, of course, it's not the yelling nor the silence, but the manipulation, and sense of entitlement that both express.
I agree, however brilliant the surgeon, it is only half good if he cannot control his own temper. Some can shout without belittling, it feels different, it is different.
"But can you stand?" has to be one of the best questions I've ever heard.
(o)
(o)
(O)
Post a Comment