Most of us have moments in time we would like to go back and change. If you were given the chance to relive one day of your life, which day would you choose? Have you ever fantasized about having a remote control which could fast-forward and rewind time? I would be flying all over the 90s and early 2000s if I had such an instrument in my possession. There are many teenager days I would revisit and redo!
The day I am about to speak of is one of those days. But first, a little background…
My college roommate and I go way back. In fact, when we met, she worked in a Christian bookstore I used to frequent. She recalls me standing in the corner wearing headphones and singing out loud with the accompaniment tapes (yes, that’s how long ago it was). I’m so glad I could entertain her while she worked. ~smile~
A few years later, we found ourselves in the same “introduction to college” course (the official name escapes me) at our local community college, and we became friends. My decision about where to go to “big” college was a difficult one. The idea of leaving the nest was terrifying; but, thanks to some convincing cousins and the Holy Spirit, I found my way and knew it was where I was supposed to be. ~smile~ And to make the transition even easier, my hometown pal was coming with me! What could be better?! ~smile~
The Dorm
For the first time, we were kinda sorta on our own. We shared a small room, and by the time we moved all of our stuff in, it was a really small room. (Note to you upcoming college students: you won’t need to bring nearly as much as you think you will!) We could go wherever we wanted as long as we were in by the school’s curfew. It wasn’t complete freedom, but it at least gave us the illusion of freedom. Oh yes, we had arrived. ~smile~
But, it’s all fun and games until someone gets sick and tired of breathing her roommate’s air. Neither of us had ever shared a room before, and (only after a few days) we were already getting on each other’s nerves. I wanted the bottom bunk, so she would have to crawl up and down to get in her bed. If she dared to open a package of crackers after I went to bed, she was met with a sigh or other signs of irritation.
A few weeks after arriving, we left for the weekend to visit our parents and got very lost. Our five-hour trip turned into a seven- or eight-hour trip, and (as you can imagine) there was fighting. Somewhere along the road, after we found the correct path, the Third Day song Mountain of God came on and we both laughed as we heard, “Even though the road is long, and I know the journey’s hard, Well the One who’s gone before me, He will help me carry on.” To this day we smile or chuckle when we hear it.
The Change
After about a month or so of living in each other’s space, she came to me with a proposition. She had thought of a fantastic way to separate the bunk beds so neither of us would have to climb a mountain every time we wanted to sleep. Bunk beds are so much more exciting for kids than adults! She even agreed to do all the work herself. I listened to her, but not intently. As I was leaving to go out somewhere she playfully remarked, “The room will look different when you get back.” To which I responded, “I don’t care,” and I left.
Well, I guess I did care. I guess I had allowed too many little aggravations to build up inside of me. I guess I was a woman on the edge, because when I came back and saw our room, I became blind with anger. In order to make the transition she had to change the room around a little, but you would have thought she’d thrown my clothes out the window. An explosion went off inside of me. She moved my things!
I scurried downstairs and called my Dad. He didn’t have any sage advice for me on this particular issue, but I think he was concerned by my obvious rage. As I hung up from talking to him, I had a choice. I could’ve driven my car to a restaurant. I could’ve gone to a friend’s room and chilled for a while. I could’ve spent a few hours in prayer until I calmed down. But, alas, I chose option four: Burst into my room and scream at my roommate.
The Breakdown
Several weeks of pent up frustration came spewing out of me like oil through a derrick {Eric’s note: I didn’t know what a derrick was either… see picture above! ~smile~}. I was not in control of my anger; and, if you have never been there before, let me tell you – it’s a scary place to be! I screamed at her about anything and everything. I tore into her with reckless abandon. I don’t remember much of what I said, but I do remember my last statement. “Do I live here?! Do I FREAKIN’ live here?!?!?”
We lived on a hall with forty-eight or so other girls, and whoever was on the hall that night heard it all. After I finished my one woman freak show, I grabbed bedding and stomped down the hall to a friend’s room for the night. After a cooling off period (or so I thought), I decided to return to my room to talk to my roommate. And would you believe… there was an aftershock?
I walked in to talk to her and saw that she was on the phone crying to her mother. Well, that just set me off again. (She’s crying to her mom and telling her what a horrible person I am.) So, I erupted again! In a mocking, derogatory tone of voice I said something to the effect of, “Are you talking to your mommy? Did you have to call her and tell her what a horrible roommate you have? Did she tell you not to worry… that you would only have to live with me a little longer? Huh? Did she?” As I’m unleashing my wrath, my poor roommate is sobbing. It was like an out of body experience. I could hear myself being so cruel, and yet, I kept at it.
The Shame
So, after I shut up from mocking her, she replied through hysterical sobs, “My ~sniffle~ mom told me ~sniffle~ I should apologize to you.” If ever I felt lower than a worm, it was at that moment. I had stabbed her repeatedly, and how did she retaliate? She apologized… TO ME!
It did not take much analyzing of the situation to figure out that I was not mad at her for moving my belongings and changing the room around. She had every right to sleep comfortably, and I had even agreed to the change. My eruption came from pent up anxiety about being in a new place, transitioning from having my own space for twenty years to sharing a room with someone, and from all the little aggravations she and I had not yet worked out. My outburst was the result of holding back the tide for too long. It taught me a valuable life lesson about clearing the air. By God’s grace, she and I, amazingly, are still friends. We occasionally laugh about that day, and I still apologize for it from time to time. It could have ended much differently.
The Moral of the Story
Clear the air – thoroughly and often. It is not always pleasant to confront issues; but. if you don’t, you may find yourself screaming at your future spouse, “Do I live here? Do I FREAKIN’ live here?!” Don’t let it get to that point. Don’t find yourself a slave to your anger. Work on issues as they come up. Let little issues go (truly go), and address anything which bothers you for more than one full day. This is the first step in maintaining a connection with friends, family, and especially your sweetie. A little maintenance makes a big difference! ~smile~
And just like it is good to get an annual physical checkup, it is good to get an annual relational checkup from a good counselor or relationship coach (who knows you well) throughout the years so that any issues which have cropped up can be addressed before the derrick explodes again. ~smile~ (And, in case you were wondering, this is a service we offer to those couples who do both their pre-engagement counseling and premarital counseling with us!)
Have you ever lost it on someone because you failed to clear the air?