A confession.


I am jealous of you.  Probably most of you.  I realize I shouldn’t be but I am, painfully, angrily, jealous.
I’m not jealous of what you have – your stuff.  I could have your stuff.  If I started making different decisions in my life, set your stuff as my goal, I could have it for myself.  I don’t want your stuff.
I want your emotional freedom.
I want to be angry and not feel guilty about it.  I want to have opinions and not feel obligated to be able to justify them in any way to any one.  I want to be mad and not hold it in.  Why do I care so much that it will hurt you or make you sad to know that you made me mad?  I say “you hurt me” then just give in as soon as you give me the “golly gee I didn’t MEAN to hurt you”.
They say there are two sides to every story.  I’m sick of being understanding of the other side.  Of refraining from standing up for myself because I ‘see’ your side too.
I want to state my opinion, or get on my soapbox, and when someone starts in on me I want to tell them to shut up.  You don’t have to agree with me.  But I don’t have time to explain myself to every Tom,Dick and Harry.
I want to pout that it’s not fair and not feel guilty about all the other starving-walking up hill both ways-momma didn’t love me people out there who have it worse than I do.  There will always be someone out there worse off than I; that doesn’t mean I can’t have a bad day.
I want to sob at a funeral without feeling like my sobbing, and the comforting attention I would receive from someone, would be somehow stealing comforting attention from someone more important-someone closer in relation- to the deceased. (I actually refrained from crying at my grandfather’s funeral because I felt my mom and my aunts had a bigger “right to cry” than I)
I am jealous of your bravery.  Your unwillingness to compromise how you feel.  Your boldness.  Your ability to share your emotions without hesitation.
I’d like to know it feels like to NOT pull a punch.  Say it and meant it, even when it’s hard.  To say “stop walking on me” without changing it to “I know this is the only way to walk, so how about we just walk on me softly okay?”
Just typing this post, THINKING this post, fills me with guilt.  It is my ability to see someone else’s side, their point, or their perspective that has put me in the position to be a peacemaker with friends, at work and with my family.  I am the one who holds it together in a crisis, the one who talks everyone through the conflict, the one who holds the boat while everyone else is rocking it. Why would I want to be so mean? To hurt others? To rock the boat?
Do you ever just wish you could go postal, for one day, and say it all?