A recent revelation:

At a very young age, I determined that I didn’t like the sound or feeling of someone yelling. My best guess is that it stems from my mother. She was a single mom of two and the first one was a rebellious adventurous being. I, being the second of the two, just followed orders as not to get yelled at.

Even now I don’t like the sound of yelling. I don’t like seeing other people yell- even if it’s not at me. The vitriol that comes with yelling hurts me on a very deep level. Cringe-worthy every single time. 

I don’t even yell. I’ve never been one to curse someone out in public or privately. I think most communication can happen at a normal speaking tone- or so I’ve told myself.

Truthfully, I think I should be yelling. There is a use for it in the world. When there’s a fire inside and it needs to come out, yelling is the best way. During labor a woman is encouraged to yell in a very primal, guttural manner.  There’s a thing called scream therapy- pretty self explanatory. So it’s useful. I get it.

*Correction, I do yell. Just, sparingly.   In the span of 6 months, I might tell 3 times.

It’s just interesting to see how very early experiences can shape our lives. It damn sure shaped mine- for better or worse.

One day I was listening to a podcast and someone said, in reference to raising children, “you never know when the record button goes on.” I’m sure the wording was better than that. But essentially, of all the things you do with and for your child, you never know what will have a lasting impact (good or bad).

It makes me think of my own daughter and how my actions can and will impact her, and who she becomes.

Disclaimer: I am a bit distracted while writing this post, so excuse if I’m a bit scatter-brained.