After work I changed into a sundress and then I couldn’t find a matching pair of sandals from the suitcase I’d brought with me. No one in the breakroom said a word about it, only that they liked my dress. When I left, I couldn’t find the Mustang that I’d driven (because my car wouldn’t start yesterday) and it turned out Todd got it running and brought it over to my office and switched cars with me. Which was great!

When I finally caught up with him, he was inside the RV he’d bought while I was at work. He bought an RV! Why in hell would he do that?! We could’ve put a pool in! What was he thinking?

Turns out he wasn’t thinking and only one of the above things is actually true. Guess which one?

If you guessed dead battery, you would be right. That was yesterday. I kind of anticipated this based on how the car was starting the previous day. The other, ongoing problem is – remember my shattered rear window? Did I mention that before?

There is still glass inside the liftgate – the Safe-lite guy who came a full hour after the four-hour time frame and cost me a half day’s work, told me he “did my best” to get it all out. Well, I’m a little concerned about what he considers his best. Because it is so obtrusive that it has hindered my ability to even open the liftgate and then, if I do manage to yank it open (electronic buttons be damned) it doesn’t always close all the way. And it has drained my battery. Twice. This wasn’t the cause yesterday since I’ve stopped trying to load my groceries into the back. Quality of life plummeting.

Anyhoo, Todd had the gear shifter in the 2012 “upgraded” – there’s some fancy name he might have used that I can’t remember, kind of like the “Coyote swap” he’s doing with the convertible that’s been in the garage for a year and don’t even ask me what a Coyote engine is because I don’t know and I’m sure he told me and I didn’t retain it and he’ll just say I never listen to him when he’s talking. I don’t like the new shifter. It’s too tight and the switches are too short.

He actually asked me how I liked it and I might have told him I hated it. More likely, I was kinder and said something more like, don’t care for it, I have no interest in driving it anymore. He might’ve been disappointed by my opinion but he’s now insisting it’s loosening up and he’s not wrong. Still struggling with getting it in reverse, but hey – beggars (without an alternative) cannot be choosers. Thankfully it was already in reverse in the garage.

Work yesterday started as any ordinary day in the summertime the week everyone and their brother needs a sports form signed by the doctor. That is, until about 9:30 when people started smelling something and feeling nauseous and dizzy. A call to 911 and everyone in the entire building was evacuated for a freon leak on what turned out to be the most beautiful summer day of the year thank the gods. Dozens of people gathering on the front lawn under the trees and the most glorious breeze ruffling my hair. We were outside just over an hour and half before we were cleared to go back inside.

The second half of this day I spent on the phone. ALL DAY. Calling to reschedule patients who were evacuated and patients who never made it into the parking lot. All while fielding incoming calls and scanning completed sports forms AND calling them to let them know they were ready for pickup.

Today is Friday, my new day off, and I do not want to talk to anybody on the phone. Except mom. Maybe. “Maybe” only because I was up at 5 and read something online that piqued my interest in generational trauma. She probably doesn’t want to discuss that today.

When these things hit my radar I often think of how social media has bastardized psychology and the human condition – that this young generation of Z’s and maybe even Y’s and Millenials are taking terminology and running with it and I don’t think it’s always accurate and may even be damaging. Like how everybody uses the term “narcissist” and THAT’s not always clinically accurate.

I’m especially sensitive because of my kids. When I see words like trauma and narcissism and trauma response and PTSD and “triggered”  thrown around so carelessly to the point of obfuscating true diagnoses, it worries me that in their silence my own kids might have their own words for me. I spend more time than is healthy overthinking a lot of things. And THAT, my friends, I learned today might be personal experiences.

I read an article some time ago, “People Who Regularly Witnessed Arguments in their Childhood Usually Display these 8 Traits as Adults.”*

They are:

1. Increased sensitivity to conflict. This is a double-edged sword – it can make them more sensitive/empathetic or experience anxiety and stress.
2. Tendency to avoid confrontation.
3. High adaptability.
4. Difficulty trusting others.
5. Deep desire for peace.
6. Overthinking and worry.
7. Strong problem-solving skills.
8. Resilience.

Did I regularly witness arguments in childhood? Yes, I did. One of my early childhood memories was my 5^th or 6^th (?) birthday party, where two people I loved got into a vicious argument in the driveway, presumably because a neighborhood spectacle is better than fisticuffs in my grandparents’ basement. I remember feeling angry and very upset. I hated one them for it.

There was a lot of arguing in the latter years of my childhood (like 6^th through 12^th grade) – the participants may say it wasn’t that often and they may be right – but the distinction here is MY PERCEPTION. And that was the takeaway to the post I was reading this morning.

Brief overview: a dad posted on Reddit that he got a lengthy text from his 19-year-old daughter calling him out on all his faults, blamed him for all of her “issues” and that she was a victim of generational trauma which he should apologize for, and subsequently blocked him. He added that the text came from a phone he pays for, inside the home that he provides her. She stormed off to go to school in a car he bought and insured, on which he does repairs and maintenance.

My initial response was, well, turn off her service. If she doesn’t want him in her life, she can get her own phone service, her own car insurance, and buy her own food. She is welcome to find a new place to live, too. Then I read the comments.

They were mixed. One thoughtful response with over 1400 upvotes acknowledging the many things dad stated he does do, asked some questions about his relationship with his own parents, whether he believes that she knows that he loves her and whether she is happy/unhappy with the connection they have. Essentially, has he considered that her perception is just as valid as his?

My dad was raised by parents who – hear me – did not fight in front of the children. Ever. My mom’s parents fully committed to the polar opposite. As their child, I find my dad to be persnickety, but not conflict-seeking (conversely, I think it finds him and this can be comical, but not always). My mom, in my perception, does not back down from a fight and you better buckle up if you’re in the vicinity. I don’t remember them fighting – they were separated when I was four and I have no [conscious] memories of them together. What followed was years of silence and an understanding that my mom and dad don’t speak to each other.

I won’t get into details of 6^th through 12^th grade except to say there seemed to be a lot of yelling. One such time I went to the top of the stairs and screamed “shut up!” (I don’t remember if they did, in fact, shut up.) I guess you could say my mom’s side of the family had passionate disagreements. My dad’s side was more of a “harrumph. I’m mad,” with a shoulder drop and nary a raised voice.

Where does this leave me? Wanna guess?

*I cannot locate the original article to give credit where it is due. I can, however, state that I am not the author of the material referenced.