Day Fifty Four - The Brat

I know I've said it here before, that my life has the tendency to be sort of sitcom-y in the simple fact that I have a less than neatly packaged thought of the day. Every day. For fifty four days now. But here's the difference. Once everything is 'neatly' wrapped up for the day and the credits role, all those lessons and thoughts still have to be dissected and processed, and some still need to be mulled over for a while yet. (There is a lot of stewing going on inside my head.) But it doesn't end at the blog. It starts here. This is where I flesh out ideas that have been stirring inside. And once they're out on paper - or the internet - then I can really look at them and consider. And then sigh a little bit inside because if I'm right (and I often am) then it probably means I need to make some sort of change. 

And then I start to wish  that I live in an 80's movie so that every time I had something that was going to take a lot of time and effort, I'd be through it in 3 minutes and a pop song. Instead, my brain is left to argue and wrestle with my heart. In real time. Without a chipper song. 

Which leads to days like today. See, I always tend to think of myself as one whole being. When I set my mind to something, then I'll do it because I am whole. Life, however, has taught me a number of times that this theory is full of crap. There are multiple things going on inside of me that I don't understand all the time, and 'unified' is not a good way to describe them. I know there are at least two parts of me, my brain and my heart, but I think there is another. We'll call it the 'brat' because that's what it is. Think about it, every day we conquer the brat. Some of us conquer it just enough to get by in society, some of us drive the brat into the ground, and some of us make duck faces and just give the brat full control. And move to Jersey. 

Yesterday's post, (if you didn't read it you should) was all about submission, though I don't think I use that word once. It was. Submission to the will of another, and on top of it, the wisdom to accept that God is smarter than me, and so joyfully submit. My Brat hates that. My brat wants to have free reign to manipulate situations to get what she wants. My brat loves to throw tantrums and be petulant, and ride the roller coaster of emotion. My brat loves to do things the easy way. My brat is lazy. My brat likes the status quo. My brat hates not being number one. 

How this slipped my mind as I started making changes to becoming number two in my own life is beyond me, but I did. Last night seemed to send my brat over the edge. It was hard, it was a struggle, but I joyfully surrendered. I didn't pout, or whine, or scream, or manipulate. I smiled and worked through the tough emotions of my heart until a genuine peace spread through me. A peace that was not my own. My brat knew it was losing control. I had it tightly caged. I want it destroyed. So it lashed out in its most devious ways: vulnerability. Without my brat, I am incredibly vulnerable. My brat is the anger that hides the hurt. My brat is the feeling of being in control. My brat is the stiff upper lip when I'm devastated. And today, I felt vulnerable. I was tense and jumpy all day. So tight my muscles still hurt. So anxious I was having difficulty breathing normally. So anxious any noise made me jump. It was exhausting.

But it was worth it, too. I fear vulnerability more than most things. I relish the feeling of being in control of my own life. But I'm not. I gave that up. And have proved it. And will have to continue to live that promise. And I can't do that giving the brat any control. The brat has to go, and I have to find a new way to feel safe.

A real way. Because let's face it, in this world, the feeling of control is an illusion no matter which way you slice it.