Zip It

Apparently there are things I am not allowed to say.

At times, I’ve been told that I don’t stand up for myself, that I let things that I should take exception to slide, that I’m a flighter, not a fighter. I am not outspoken, I am not bossy. I am friendly, compassionate and an extremely good listener. However, when crossed I can be direct, not terribly tactful and really accurate. It’s called shooting from the hip. Mostly this isn’t appreciated. Mostly, I don’t care.

At this point in my life, I should be able to say whatever I want to say. It can be taken as insight, wisdom or the ranting of an old woman. There are people who I need to hear what I have to say – whether or not they need to hear it is questionable. However what I would like to say would rock the boat and it’s not my boat to rock, so I rehearse conversations that will never happen, bite my tongue until it bleeds, and take my blood pressure pills regularly.

One-on-one conversation is not my speciality. Being a writer, my weapon of choice is the pen, but I’m reasonably sure angry emails and nasty notes fall into the category of conversations I’m not allowed to have. I am limited to hiding fact in fiction, writing indirect and obscure blogs, and journaling until my fingers are numb and the anger subsides.

If her cubs are threatened, a mother bear attacks with a vengeance. But I am not a mother bear. I am a human mother, and I have compassion for both the cub and the attacker. I understand the cub’s reasoning; I understand the attacker’s lack of moral compass.

So I will be quiet as requested. My thoughts will remain silent to the ears I want most to hear them. Events will unfold as they should. I smile at the knowledge that Karma can be a bitch.