I Yelled, and Lived

I yelled at someone, and the earth did not crack open under my feet and swallow me up. I yelled, and lightning did not strike me dead from the heavens. I yelled, and no one got hurt, no one bled, no one got mad or declared revenge. I yelled, and I lived to tell you about it.



I don't yell. I rarely raise my voice. Well, except with my daughter but not so much now that she's grown. It's that indoctrinated thing about how a mom should be. Hard to break, even through enlightenment and knowledge that in most cases it is the ego wanting to manipulate the child into doing what the mother wants........whole other post.



In my younger (much younger) years, raising my voice was disrespectful, or so I was told. Projecting my voice would often be misinterpreted as hurtful and mean. I didn't understand it, but I did learned to control the tone, or keep my mouth shut. More often than not, I kept my mouth shut.



When I yelled and didn't die, I wasn't angry. I wanted to be heard. I had something to say, some new information that would change the direction of the current discussion, which was at the moment being conversed in raised voices. I was right, this time, and we all became more productive toward our goal, in a peaceful and loving manner.



So, when have you not yelled or raised your voice to be heard? Have you ever not raised your voice to say the one thing that could bring peace to the situation, because you believed that yelling or speaking loudly was not peaceful, loving, respectful, or may be detrimental to your current well-being - like being struck by lightning?



I yelled, and every day since my mind and my heart remind me that I yelled and lived to tell the story. This reminder nudges me to take a really good, deep look at this part of myself. And I wonder, where have I not yelled when yelling was exactly what was needed to be the catalyst toward peace?



And I now promise to raise a passionate voice, with love - sometimes called yelling.