Today I chose drama, over and over.


A staged revolt against my scrambled eggs that ended in a box of cereal spilled on the kitchen floor? Drama.

Another day of my little one home from school, feeling unwell? (I mean, come on, Universe, I have just entered homeschool recovery, I mean retirement.  Don’t I get a reprieve, a refractory period, like at least 12 months of perfect attendance?)  Drama.

I’m trying to get some time to myself to meditate and can’t get the Xbox to play a DVD for my 4-year-old and I start to fume about my husband’s habit of choosing dumbass passwords that he never remembers and I call to remind him that his habit of choosing dumbass passwords really makes my life harder.  Drama.

We move to the other TV and I am on the third set of fresh batteries for the remote when I realize the new speaker that was a gift from my brother-in-law is blocking the remote sensor on the TV.  Well, Happy Birthday to me!  Drama.

The funny (oh, isn’t life so funny?) part is that I was planning to write about drama today, specifically how I coach young women in the importance of choosing their dreams over their drama.  You can’t have both.  I teach, every time you feed that upsetting feeling with complaining, blaming, and excuses you are channeling energy away from taking responsibility for doing your part to bring out the best in the situation.

Every time you complain about someone behind their back instead of having a direct conversation?  Drama.

Every time you play your part in a charade to “keep the peace?” (I would like to suggest a moratorium on “keeping the peace.”  Do any of us appreciate the intense amount of awkwardness created by “keeping the peace?”  I know I don’t, but I have played my assigned part in countless charades countless times.)  Drama.

So, I stand at my kitchen counter, trying not to lose my shit for the third time in five minutes and I ask, “What is it that I still need to learn about feeding drama?”

We create drama every time we resist what is.

Oh, that.

It’s the screaming in my brain that says, “This shouldn’t be happening to me.”  Well, it is.  The floor is covered in cereal.  Maybe this is perfect.  Maybe this is the perfect teachable moment for my 10-year-old to realize that eating mom’s freshly-cooked breakfast is easier than using THIS issue every morning over which to assert his independence.  Maybe.

But, if I feed the drama we just get more drama.  Drama begets drama and the blaming intensifies and each one of us postures more persistently for the position of victim.

And, when we are screaming (out loud or in our heads), “Poor me, poor me,” we are not very empowered to do much of anything now, are we?  Nope, not much at all.

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