I lost control the other day. In a stand-up-and-yell-then-dissolve-into-tears way. Worse, it was in public. Worse still, it was with people I have to see again. And it was awful. I've never done that before, so this was not just baffling, but very challenging to recover from.
I won't share the details of who said what and how. But suddenly I was having an out-of-body experience, hearing and watching myself behave in a way I didn't recognise, but in which I had a strange, disconnected interest.
![A perceived attack is a real attack.](/web/20161211034528im_/http://www.theage.com.au/content/dam/images/g/q/f/y/p/9/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gt6lof.png/1481401927022.jpg)
There was definitely a trigger. In thinking of a way to describe what happened, I'm reminded of the time my father-in-law, Bruce, had a run-in with a gorilla at the zoo. The gorilla took exception to his stupid face-pulling and suddenly ran at Bruce, smashing her giant fists at the glass, then pooing into her own hand and throwing it at him.
Now, I admit that I – er, I mean the gorilla – should have chosen a more rational response than flinging excrement around. But my emotional reaction over-ruled reason, and now, having done it, how could I ever face the witnesses to my meltdown again?
The answer is that it was a four-step process. After I car-cried home, bed-cried to sleep and shower-cried the next day (my favourite kind of cry), I calmed down and started thinking about it. My first step was to understand why my response was so extreme.
Fortunately for me, I already knew the answer to that, having taught resilience and mindfulness in the corporate world.
My reaction was caused by an overflow of the stress hormone cortisol, a hormone our prehistoric ancestors needed to survive things like being attacked by a sabre-toothed tiger. Obviously, there's not much use for such survival instincts now, but our brains haven't caught up.
A perceived attack is a real attack. The chemical reaction is the same.
On a good day, I'm able to use mindfulness – controlled breathing techniques and attentiveness to each of my senses – to slow my reaction. But on that day, the tiger got me. Knowing this, step two had to be practising self-compassion – which is, like all personal growth, easier said than done.
My natural go-to whenever I'm not a completely perfect human is shame: deep, beat-myself-up, wake-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-in-a-cold-sweat, sick-in-the-stomach-with-the-recollection-of-it kind of shame. It's like the worst kind of virus, one that never leaves your system. I think I've beaten it and then suddenly I get a flashback standing in the checkout queue and want to throw up in the middle of Coles.
So intellectually, I knew I had to ensure that didn't happen this time, or I would have had to fake my own death and go on the run. The antidote to that was comforting myself, like I'd comfort someone I deeply love. I often picture my precious daughter when I do this, using positive, encouraging, loving self-talk: "It's okay"; "You're okay"; "You are loved"; "You're a much nicer person than Donald Trump and he became president." It might sound a bit too Oprah, but it works.
But despite all of that excellent work, I still had to face the people who saw it all. People who possibly think very differently of me now, in the same way I imagine people are wary of a rabid dog in the neighbourhood. So steps three and four hurt, but they were made easier because they came hand in hand – I apologised to those who needed to hear it while having a good laugh at myself.
OWNING MY OWN BAT-SHIT CRAZY BEHAVIOUR WITH A FEW GAGS TAKES THE AWKWARDNESS OUT OF IT FOR EVERYONE.
Acknowledging that you've been highly inappropriate is hard. Owning my own bat-shit crazy behaviour with a few gags about how next time they should film it (it will be huge on social media, and I need the followers) takes the awkwardness out of it for everyone.
The strange thing is that, a week later, I feel I wouldn't react that way to the same trigger. Maybe I've had more sleep, or I have less general anxiety. Or I've learnt something about myself and tucked it away in my brain. I feel stronger. Ready for the next tiger. And when it comes at me, get your phones out. I really want you to film it.