I was grumpy yesterday. I noticed this during the morning catch up meeting. I was triggered listening to a colleagues implied criticism of a work process. A system they had not found the time to learn and understand.
Adopting a critical stance to something we do not understand protects the child within us from uncomfortable feelings. Feeling inadequate, not good enough, vulnerable. While no system is perfect my colleagues criticism was a vehicle for psychological projection. An ego defence.
The vulnerable child in me was triggered. I instigated the change in the system my colleague was struggling to get to grips with. Grumpiness the “safe” outlet for my own vulnerability and anger.
There were at least two children in the space we occupied. Both vulnerable. Both seeking to protect themselves. You might imagine how that went. Speaking over one another. Not listening. No empathy or compassion from either side. It did not dissolve into a bun fight. We stayed within the boundaries of acceptable adult discourse. The children were muted, censored by the adults we now are. It was however children that were pulling the strings.
There is nothing unusual about being triggered. It happens. Less and less so with me these days. I have been working on myself for some years now. I guess that’s why it felt notable. All day I was on a hair trigger. Reacting not responding.
It took me by surprise that I was being like this. Noticing it was helpful. Doing so prompted me to pause and not run with my reactions. At the end of the day it occurred to me to do a “releasing meditation”, listening to sounds that supposedly evoke brainwave patterns correlated with deep emotional release. Woke up today feeling more at ease. I spent 20 minutes doing a centring meditation. A reminder to identify with the observer not the thinker.
Sitting in this mornings catch up. A couple of colleagues became stuck in the mire of legal and organisational complexity, blurred organisational responsibilities and lines of accountability. I heard vulnerable, angry children. My silent critic stayed quiet.