I hate confrontation. I’m sure most of us do. Something happens and I know it’s a situation I’ve got to confront somehow in some way and until I have I can’t think straight, can’t concentrate, struggle to do the things I’m meant to do, to react to everyone else in a normal and pleasant way, I just worry. I’m a worrier, I can’t help it, worry to me is like guilt to your average Catholic, and water to your average fish, and perhaps worry is in some ways what drives me, what I thrive upon, sometimes. When better, more thrivier things aren’t around, that is. But sometimes it’s what carries you through, isn’t it, gives you the momentum to power through a difficult day or a knotty issue. Worry, and anger. Because it is far easier to feel angry than sad. Anger you can turn onto other people and things, sadness is just yours to carry, however you came to pick up the burden.
But the point is confrontation. I know some people avoid it altogether. I know people refuse to stand up and say, no, this is wrong, you’re hurting me, this situation isn’t fair and I want you to do something about it. Easier, perhaps, to just put up with an unfair situation and one that makes you unhappy and just keep going. But to me that’s the worst bit of confrontation – the anticipation, the fear. The worry, I suppose. And so worrying drives me to action, and when I try, I’m actually good at it, sometimes.
Just a minute ago I stood up and I said to someone I know, you really can’t treat any of us this way, your response to this situation is completely out of proportion, this isn’t fair. Not exactly in those words. But I didn’t raise my voice that much, and I didn’t lose control of what I was saying, and I didn’t cry. I just out and said what I wanted to say. And I got, I think, a fairly reasonable response. I think I was heard, message recieved and understood. And that’s at least half the battle.
And goodness, I’m glad that’s done with.