Here’s the thing we’re not supposed to say in my family – one of our own can get irrationally angry over just about anything. We’ll call him “Schmad”. 

This doesn’t happen every day – in fact, most days it doesn’t happen. But that’s the rub of it – you never can tell when Schmad is going to blow. Or over what. 

Some of the more ridiculous examples from over the years….rolling down a car window without asking permission. Going to the bathroom before leaving the hotel for dinner. Calling homesick from summer camp. 

Now, sometimes Schmad has legitimate and even thoughtful concerns. Which has always been one of the defenses of him – that his intentions are good. When that fails and Schmad’s on a tear that’s too bizarre to be called legit, other reasons are given. He works hard, he’s tired, he’s sick, he was treated this way as a child, he experienced trauma in the armed forces. No one ever said it, but I think Schmad is a bit of a tortured soul. And I feel for his pain.

But when Schmad is swearing, screaming and stomping, I don’t really care why it’s happening. I just need the emotional abuse to stop. And I finally figured out that it does, if you leave the building. As in, set my limits and stick them like an Olympic gymnast, and if I need to, literally leave.

What about the other family members?

The texts started in the morning the day before Thanksgiving. I was at physical therapy, hearing my phone ding, ding, ding, from deep within my purse. 

It was another family member we’ll call PJ. The scenario: PJ took his car to the mechanic, but Schmad didn’t think the car was in need of a mechanic visit at all and worried that the mechanic was taking advantage of PJ. 

PJ’s texts started off innocently enough: Schmad asked why PJ didn’t take the car to his mechanic instead. That progressed quickly to texts about how Schmad was upset, panicky speculation about when the car would be ready for pickup, and PJ “feeling like I failed Schmad”. 

Reading PJ’s next texts felt like swallowing rocks: Schmad was still really upset. Schmad was swearing. PJ was alone with him and scared. PJ felt like it was all his fault. Could he call me if needed so I could say something? (What, I don’t know.) Schmad was telling him they were going to get the f’ing car. 

They got the car. Hours later, PJ tepidly offered the explanation was that Schmad was worried the mechanic was taking advantage of him, and “Hopefully it will get better.”

Until Schmad commits to change, I don’t think it will.

This is the pattern. Every so often Schmad explodes, verbal shrapnel flying everywhere. 

Afterwards he feels badly, I think. He wants to forget it ever happened. There is no apology or closure for what happened. He’s moved on and wants you to, as well.

I couldn’t move on, until I learned to literally step away. I had to get out of the fallout to move on from it. 

But with almost a hundred texts from PJ the day before thanksgiving, the pain returned in new form. It was like ghost pain, echoing how I felt back when I was part of these fallout scenes. My body fell right back into the fear of trying to be as quiet as possible, tensed for the sound of stomps and screams. And my chest was squeezing with hurt for PJ, hit with the brunt of pointless anger that he somehow felt he deserved. 

Later, when PJ tried to justify Schmad’s behavior, it snapped me back to the time when I was the one getting the brunt of it and struggling with my own bubbling anger. My gut insisted it was wrong, but everyone around me desperately wanted me to let it go. 

I can’t play that role anymore. The casting was wrong. I tell the uncomfortable things. I’m not a natural for covering up bullshit and pretending it never existed. And I realized after that day, if I’m that close to the play-by-play for PJ, I get sucked right back in. I can support him after the drama winds down, but not during. Not anymore.

If you’re balancing love with boundaries this holiday season, I feel you.

Here’s to embracing the joy while keeping the sanity.