My gosh, what the hell.
I’ve discovered something I never expected: my fight or flight response doesn’t just kick in, it transforms. It morphs into something I now recognise as spite.
For me, “fight” shows up in sharp, reactive ways, spiteful words, intense energy bursts, usually taken out on whoever triggered the feeling. These days, my outlet tends to be through physical training, pushing my body to its limits to escape what I can’t express.
“Flight,” on the other hand, becomes isolation. I disappear. I shut down. I cut off.
And when I feel wronged, I act out first, often immediately and then try to reel it back in. But by then, it’s too late. The damage is done, and the person on the other end is left confused and misled by my whiplash behaviour.
This pattern has forced me to acknowledge something painful:
All of these reactions are emotional, not logical.
That terrifies me.
Because for most of my life, I’ve prided myself on being logical. At work, I’m composed, methodical, clear. I live by rules, regulations, priorities.
But at home?
I’m a blubbering mess, chaotic, inconsistent, reactive. There are no rules. No systems. No order. And it’s because I’ve got nowhere to safely feel.
This realisation, meeting my dark side, has been both a relief and a worry.
It explains so much. But I don’t like what I see.
I have a friend who lives entirely by logic. I used to admire that, now I realise I’ve been trying to live by logic without honouring my emotional side, and that’s where the imbalance lies.
I need a safe space.
A place where my emotional side can show up regularly, without shame or backlash, so that I can return to life, work, parenting, and everything else from a place of logic and peace.
Because the goal isn’t to choose between logic or emotion.
It’s to make room for both.
Real Talk: Diary of a Seriously Fcked Off Parent 