I celebrate conscious men who realize when they’re acting like giant babies. My coach Bob Conlin copped to an epic mantrum this past weekend, and he’s such a conscious leader I should’ve paid attention to the astrological forecast. Perhaps one would be in my future too….
“Nah, things are going really well right now! Bob should lock down his mantrum.”
My clients agree: there’s something particularly satisfying about watching our coaches struggle with the same stuff we do. 🙂
Consciousness alone separates us from apes, and prior generations of bottled-up men. As a grown man, the real pain of a meltdown isn’t whatever triggered it, or whatever we’re losing by not getting our way.
The pain is in hearing venomous words leave our lips. It’s the yelling voice, seemingly possessing us in a moment of anger, that we simultaneously wish to retract and have stricken from the record. Actually, let’s just seal it in a vault, bury it, and never speak of it again.
“I’ll be outside, aggressively watering the garden.”
But the beast hath been unleashed, and the collateral damage is done.
The older our kids get, the more sickened I get by rage and anger. It’s not that I don’t think we all deserve to indulge sometimes. It’s that anger is already everywhere in a cold and cruel world, and our kids don’t deserve it at home.
The Soul would never agree that anyone deserves it, ever. We only deserve love, patience, and understanding. Alas, this isn’t the spiritual plane and we’re all working through some heavy karma.
My son is 6, and we witnessed a pretty sweet tantrum the other day. We were attending his sister’s race event. A toddler clearly wasn’t having it with something, and did the red-faced, stomp-and-scream. Arms folded. Shrieking and violently pulling away from his parents. Leon thought it was funny, and I reminded him it wasn’t so long since he played the tantrum card. He’s been such a sweetheart lately, it’s hard for him to recall any moments of blind rage.
I wish the same could be said of me…
Once you’re in the clear from tantrums with your own kids, it’s easy to feel sorry for younger parents. There is something completely ridiculous about the spectacle of a tantrum, but there’s also an opportunity for compassion. For the parent, and especially for the child who’s blowing their stack like Yosemite Sam.
I did my best to practice compassion, even though I did find it mildly amusing.
LAST NIGHT’S MANTRUM
My mantrum blew in from the South last night, at a firey 85 nauts. No one saw it coming. I had a great dinner with the kids, sharing funny stories from growing up. We all laughed, and read books together before heading up to bed.
For some reason, when I was in the kids’ bathroom The Beast was awakened. Their GFI outlet controls the power for our master bath. I still can’t comprehend why our electrician wired it that way. Their outlet went bad, and earlier in the day we realized we had no power in our bathroom.
The fatigue from a long, epic day was catching up with me– fast. All the stuff I write and preach about, I had done it by the book yesterday. 1 hour of meditation. 4 miles of a brisk run. Smoothies, supplements, getting the kids out the door. I wrote most of the day, then produced a new e-learning course end to end. I was feeling productive for sure, but was also pushing myself too hard.
Fast forward to the kids’ bedtime, and the outlet made me blow my circuits.
For the next hour, I managed to treat just about everyone in our house like shit. I asked them what they were thinking. I made Elliott clean the basement, and then the kitchen when all she wanted to do was chill after a couple hard days. Worst of all, I made it a miserable house for Gayle to come home to after work. She was sitting down to eat dinner at 9PM, after going solid since 6AM.
To make her dinner even better, I aired all my grievances about the kids, our house, and life in general.
I apologized before falling asleep, but it was still with me through my meditation this morning. I joked about it, but a lingering stink hung in the air. Instead of piling on the love, I swung into Mr. Fixit mode.
I called the electrician. “Oh, Friday’s the earliest you can make it? I guess that will work.”
It didn’t work for Gayle. She grabbed a new outlet at Ace Hardware, killed the breakers, and installed it perfectly. She then installed a new light fixture in the hallway.
Sitting quietly in our room afterward, I asked her: “Do you think you’re better than me, because you worked solely on the solution versus making everyone feel like crap about the problem?”
She said: “Oh yes. I definitely do.”
More evidence that the Divine Feminine is needed to heal the planet. Our masculine crap doesn’t cut it, even we’re thinking we’re Mr. Fixit. In reflecting on it today, my anger getting triggered yesterday was yet another test from my guru. It was also another short term failure on my part that he (or our family, Thank God) won’t hold against me.
My practice areas:
1 – Ensure each child knows that I regret my behavior, and it wasn’t personal. They will also know I’m actively working on this.
2 – Make Gayle (and the world) know how fortunate we are to have her. She teaches me every day.
3 – Chill the hell out and don’t flip the Dick Switch.
I must remain vigilant with my anger, and find ways to process it that don’t include playing The Mantrum Card.
I celebrate conscious men who realize when they’re acting like giant babies. But I celebrate conscious women even more. Gayle is a model citizen in taking no shit, but also in offering compassion when she knew I was in pain. She reminded me how lucky I am today. Can’t do anything but agree.