I recently had my first argument with the Boy Not Quite On The Nether Edge.

And when I say I had my first argument with him, what I mean is that I had it entirely in my own head – without his knowledge.

And when I say I had it entirely in my own head, I mean I actually had it with my ex. Or at least my memories of conflict with him.

God. My life, both personal and professional, would be SO MUCH BETTER if I could successfully handle conflict. Or any sort of difficult conversation.

In this case, instead of saying, ‘My feelings are hurt’ when they were hurt – and sorting things out like a grown-up – I got the wrong end of the stick and ran with it.

I proceeded to wind myself up, make assumptions about intent and responses based on old echoes rather than current facts, find familiar red-flags to obsess over, flash-back to all the powerlessness of the past – and generally dive off the deep end.

When I did finally let The Boy know about this process – of which he’d been blissfully unaware – in written form BECAUSE THAT’S HOW I PROCESS – needless to say he was somewhat surprised.

And immediately apologetic.

And he didn’t say he couldn’t be bothered to read it.

Or respond to my written diatribe point by point to prove me wrong.

Or try and justify himself.

Or call me a psycho.

He just said sorry.

And asked if I was okay.

And no, I’m not.

I’m not okay. And the annoying thing is I thought I was. I thought I was done healing from these wounds. But I went right back to the state I was in when conflict was all at its worst. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t breathe.

That’s the trouble with trauma. It’s never quite finished with you. But this time I’d done it entirely to myself.

Because this isn’t on my old relationship, it’s on me. These are MY mistakes. Because I stopped watching. I stopped watching myself so I didn’t fall back into old unhealthy behaviours and patterns. So they snuck up. I stopped thinking. And learning. And growing. And trying. I… settled. Into numbness, into routine. And I inevitably went back to what I know in my bones.

I’m a natural born conflict avoider, you see. And to be fair to me, I can usually charm difficult people to get what I need out of situations. And I do it by giving up power to them, so they feel comfortable. But sometimes the charm wears off. Sometimes it doesn’t work. And then I struggle to take the power back, and advocate for myself when I need to.

I have lost jobs because of this.

I have lost friends.

Because I’m scared of conflict, the feelings get so big they stick in my throat and I can’t explain them. And that affects my behaviour, and my judgement. And I can fall into an explosion, but more often into retreat – or into victimhood – none of which are great reactions. And then even worse – I can’t hold onto the big feelings when the moment passes. Like they weren’t real – and then I feel stupid, and deflated, and the one at fault – the one to blame. Like the feelings were wrong in the first place and I can’t keep the narrative straight in my head. And then because that makes me feel bad I bury the feelings, and I don’t bring up things that bother me, and I tell myself I’m not stressing the small stuff – but I am – and it’s building up slowly in the background until it’s something worse than it was if I just dealt with it in the moment. And the whole thing starts all over again.

I went back to look at the beginning, and the very first messages the Boy and I sent to each other. We were both rather broken, and we both wanted something different. So we promised to be honest with each other. And I haven’t been. But not so much with him – with me.

I stopped being honest. I stopped being introspective. I stopped being vigilant.

And the thing is, the work to work on me DOESN’T stop. I’m not fixed. I’m not perfect. No one is. But it’s been a reminder to me that I need to check in with myself, and not get bogged down in the daily drudgery of life and forget who I am, where I came from, who I want to be and where I want to go. A reminder to start working on myself again.

I wish this is the sort of stuff they would teach in schools. A mixture of management training and therapy – like how to have difficult conversations.

How to deal with different types of people.

How to give and receive negative feedback.

How to be outcome focussed, how to keep the end in mind, how to work towards a goal.

How to lead people.

How to manage yourself.

How to communicate well.

How to feel your big emotions and acknowledge them, but also how to not act on them in the moment.

How to look for facts, and evidence, and truth – how to make a plan to respond after the feeling.

How to argue well.

How to persuade.

How to manage anxiety.

How not to hold onto resentment.

How to say sorry.

How to be angry.

How to be happy.

How to be sad.

Because these are the skills of people who are successful at life. I really wish I’d learnt them before now, because I’m a pretty old dog – and I’m still getting it wrong A LOT.

But more than anything, I really, really wish I wasn’t in charge of having to try and teach these skills to my children, because they deserve a better teacher.

So to them, and to the Boy, I’m sorry.

And I promise I’m going to remember to keep moving forwards, keep thinking, and keep trying to do, and be, and get, better.

And I will respectfully and healthily fight anyone who gets in my way. Especially me.

xxx