"Why?" you ask.
"George bought the wrong chicken stock," I reply.
I can count on one hand the number of dishes I have made in the last six to eight months. So, when I cook, I cook so that I can freeze the dish and eat it later. Over the weekend, George went to the grocery store which I am not currently able to do and have not been able to do since late Autumn 2010-almost a year. As usual, I gave him a detailed typed list and always write next to questionable items "check ingredients' because I have many food sensitivities and triggers.
Yesterday, I was excited I felt well enough to cook and so I made a huge batch of white chicken chili. When I picked up the empty box of chicken stock to throw it in the recycling bin, out of curiosity, I read the label and found that it was not organic and had ingredients I could not eat, thus making my dish uneatable. Two hours of spoons down the drain making a meal I could not eat.
Should I have looked at the label *before* I added it to the dish? Of course.
Did I? No.
Why not? Because I trusted George. He has always call me from the store when there was anything questionable on a food label before he bought it. George knows how important it is that I don't eat these ingredients and is the one person aside from myself that I trust when it comes to my food.
Who's fault was it that I now could not eat the chili? Completely mine. But that did not stop me from losing my temper.
With steam pouring out of my ears, I dialed George's work number. I can see my gentle husband pick up the phone, not having a clue that a train of ruthless words and anger was about to hit him.
I am ashamed at how I acted, how I yelled, how I cried, how I said some nasty things that I wish I could take back.
It took thirty minutes after I had hung up the phone for me to cool down, be convicted of how wrong I was in how I had treated my loving George and to call to apologize.
After much thought, I realized that the anger I had was not because George bought the wrong chicken stock. The anger I unleashed was anger surrounding emotions that have a hold of me. This little event triggered how upset I feel about my situation of being disabled, debilitated and needing to rely so heavily on others. It is difficult it is to face the reality that I am so reliant on George for so many things...help to the bathroom, support in the shower, walking back to bed, pulling me up off the floor when I have a Meniere's drop attack (which is frequent these days), shopping for groceries, doing household chores, driving me everywhere. The list is long. For a woman who by nature is independent and driven, a life of so much dependence and extreme limitations is a very cruel way to live.
My anger had nothing to do with chicken stock or George and everything to do with the disabling, debilitating nature of my chronic illnesses. And I'm sure as I was getting it all out, my anger about the daily severe pain I experience fueled the fire too.
I know I'm not alone in wrongly accosting someone with pain-driven anger because I have had others take out their anger on me. How often do we take our anger out on someone who did not deserve it? Someone who was just trying to help? Someone who loves us dearly? Someone who takes care of us when we cannot?
So many people bail when times get tough. Let's not hurt the ones that stick around.