Bounce Back Fast

My daughter and I have always laughed at the people who stay angry. Not about the big stuff — when something big happens, anger makes sense. I'm talking about the little things. The stuff we get pissed off at our spouse for, our friends, our kids, our parents, our siblings. The little things that somehow turn into a whole week.

There are two types of people when it comes to that. Okay — probably more than two. But here's what I know about me: I bounce back fast. I don't stay angry.

And the reason isn't that I think anger is bad. It's who anger tells me I'm allowed to be. Anger hands me a version of myself I don't like — sharp, small, mean in ways that aren't me — and says, go ahead, you're angry, it's okay. I don't like that person. So I choose not to be her.

Now, do I internalize the crap out of everything instead? Yeah. That's the trade I made, and I'm not pretending it's a healthy one. But between the two, I'd rather hold it inside than hand anger the keys to who I am.

The thing nobody tells you about internalizing is that it doesn't disappear. It just moves in and pays rent in your chest. It comes out sideways — in the sigh, in the short answer, in the way you go quiet at dinner. I'm not saying it's better than anger. I'm saying it's the choice I made, and I'm still learning a third option: letting it out somewhere it can't hurt anyone. That's what the cages are for.

I've always told my kids the same thing when they're down: you don't have a choice but to bounce back. The quicker you bounce, the happier you'll be. You come from me, and I always bounce back.

And here's the part I didn't expect: they're watching. Not the words — the recovery. They see me go quiet and then they see me come back. They see me put the hat on and walk out the door and come home lighter. That's the lesson. Not 'don't feel it' — feel it all — but 'don't live there.'

And after a week like this one — all the emotions, all the heartbreak, all the sadness sitting in my soul — there is no better way to bounce back than finding my favourite hat and heading to the batting cages. One swing at a time. Move your body, let the noise out, come home lighter than you left.

It's not about the baseball. It's about having somewhere to put it all. The hat is the signal — to me, not to anyone else. Hat on, car, cages, swings. Nobody there needs me to explain anything. The ball comes, I hit it or I don't, and either way something leaves my body that was sitting there all week.

So here's the tool: bounce back fast. Not because the feeling wasn't real — it was. But because staying angry lets the little thing pick who you are, and that's a job that belongs to you.

What's your bounce-back move? Tell me below.