Dear Imperfect Stranger,
With effort, I can usually hide my displeasure. I can bite my tongue despite the fact that my face is probably saying it all for me anyways, but hey, that’s a matter of perception right? On a good day, I can tolerate most things, I’ll suppress the annoyance with a simple shrug and move on–but these are not good days. Full disclosure, being pregnant, it does not take much for this crouching tiger to find her hidden dragon and breathe fire all up in your grill.
For the record, pregnancy rage is not due to a wild, irrational case of hormones, it’s due to a decreased threshold for bullshit, and honestly a little common sense, and common courtesy will go a long way to not having to deal with the Flame of Udun.
These days, I feel like an eighty year old who has lost her filter. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s that I literally don’t have the energy to suppress your ignorance at the moment. Growing a human being is exhausting and quite frankly painful. Things are pulling and pinching and you feel like a knit sweater slowly unraveling, so please stop pulling the fray.
This does not mean that pregnant women need to be treated as fragile bowls in china shops, and it’s not that we’re crazy, aggressive beasts that need to be tamed either, we’re people whose minds are currently being occupied with things more important than your bruised ego after finally calling out your lack of consideration. So how about instead of brushing off my anger with a demeaning call out to my hormones you actually take a second, listen to the words, and do better in the future.
I’ll admit, my personal fury has always been lurking below the surface like a shark ready to devour it’s prey, the irritability for things that have happened over and over again without resolution, and the overall annoyance of (to quote Michel from GG) people being particularly stupid that day. I can be sassy AF; however, now it’s different. Now I don’t want to just be the bag that takes the punches because that’s not the example I want to be for my kids. I don’t want to be the people pleaser who is always sweeping things under the rug because that’s not being an example of emotional intelligence to my kid, that’s being a door mat.
Maybe once the energy levels resume I’ll be able to find a more eloquent way of calling out your bullshit, but until then, my dear Imperfect Stranger, can you just make as much of an effort to not piss me off as I have made in the past not jumping down your throat? Can you just think about the consequences of your actions before making them and acknowledge the effort it takes to logistically, physically and, yes, emotionally get out the door to do you a favor? Or how about making stupid comments about my altered body, or birth plans? Even simpler, can you not invade my personal space by rubbing my belly like Aladdin’s lamp because I can pretty much guarantee you that the genie will not be coming out of the bottle, but Iago might just get a cracker shoved down his throat.
So about that freak out sorry, but not sorry because when it comes to pregnancy rage, it’s actually not us it’s you. It might stem from a deeper, unresolved issue, or it can also just be because you made some jerky move, which happens, but at least own it and try to do better instead of placing the blame on the tornado of emotions swirling below our surfaces.
…and if for whatever reason you don’t understand what caused the rager in the first place, chocolate and a foot rub can go a long way!