Several weeks ago, I dreamt a man and woman were trying to anesthetize my baby and I with large needles. I’ve had this dream several times in the past and I usually freeze with fright at the sight of them. Occasionally, I run. But this time, I kicked the needle out of the man’s hand and karate chopped the larger needle out of the woman’s hand while yelling, “I hate your guts!” I woke up with a start, but it was quickly replaced by relief and a bit of pride. “Cool!” I grinned to myself, “at least I finally did something.”
I do not have the fight or flight response; I freeze. I relentlessly critique myself for this and worry that I am not adequately protecting myself or even worse, not protecting my kids by being mute. I am the biggest mother bear around if a shady looking stranger approaches my kids and am quite direct in my day-to-day interactions with the public. I only freeze when people I know well say hurtful things to my children or me. In my opinion, this is the worst time to freeze because strangers aren’t usually the ones who cause the most emotional harm.
To karate chop the familiar figures in my dream was a step towards defending myself and my children rather than freezing. It was also a sign that I was entering another anger phase. I’ve had a few anger phases in the past years and I have to admit, I enjoy them. Anger moves me towards action versus its counterpoint, sadness, which often makes me shut down emotionally. I waste a lot of time analyzing my sadness, for fear if I don’t, I’ll stay there forever. I don’t feel the need to analyze anger because I know I won’t stay there forever. In fact, I probably won’t stay there long enough.
Round one and two of my anger therapy resulted in many plates, rocks, and cups to be hurled against the cement wall in my backyard. I got my kids in on the destruction and we mosaiced our mailbox with the remnants. But this time, I didn’t want to hurl things. I wanted to punch something.
After a mediocre at best conversation with my boyfriend one night, I felt my old pattern kick in. “Abort, abort,” the little voice inside me said as uncomfortable feelings arouse due to him being distracted by his hectic day and me wanting him to be alert and attentive to what I was saying. I reached for the book I was going to read to mask the sadness and irritation that surfaced due to feeling disconnected and said I needed to get off the phone.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
I looked at my book, decided I didn’t want to escape or stuff my feelings, I wanted to move through them. “No,” I answered. “But I will be after I beat the crap put of some pillows.”
“Will you be picturing me while doing so?” he asked with a laugh, but I sensed some concern in his voice.
“Only in a fleeting tantrum way. Mostly, I’m doing it so I don’t shut down.”
“Sounds good,” he said and wished me a good night.
I stacked five pillows up on the floor and punched them until I was out of breath. Then I punched and kicked the air until my body stopped feeling like a revved engine. The whole event probably only lasted five or ten minutes, but it was long enough to turn my tense, irritated, disappointed, and angry mind and body to a relaxed, loose, ready to sleep state.
My shoulder blades were sore in the morning, but my mind was clear. I was no longer mad at him, or even the situation, but I also wasn’t going to suppress my needs. When we talked that day I said, “When you’re able, I need an hour of your undivided attention so I can feel heard.” I didn’t blame him for not being heard, I didn’t pout, nor did I cry. I merely asked for what I needed. Later that evening, I was heard without interruption.
Since then, when things didn’t go the way I expected or wanted and I felt frustrated or hurt, I’d pause what I was doing, punch the air or pillows if they were available, and return a few minutes later with clarity on how to state my needs clearly. If my needs couldn’t be met, I was able to let go of the incident rather easily. The charge for me is not usually around getting my way or not, it’s that I don’t even try to say what I need, because I’m so sure I won’t get it. The success comes with the asking, not solely the receiving.
Sure, I often wondered what my neighbors thought when they saw me half naked karate chopping the air at midnight, but it seemed a small price to pay for clarity. But eventually, I wanted to punch something besides pillows and I wanted to be able to yell without fear of waking my children.
The other day, my son and I walked by a new martial arts studio. I have been searching for over a year for martial arts classes that meet my five and eight year-olds’ class needs as well as mine to no avail. Although doubtful this studio would be any different, I gave in to the beckoning call of the gurgling fountain and friendly female face I saw through the glass window. “I think this is the one,” my son said. One glance at the life size stuffed mannequin in the center of the practice space had me not only agreeing with him, but salivating and ready to hand over my credit card. Within five minutes, the woman had all three of us scheduled for a free, semi-private lesson together.
“We can all be in the same class?” I asked with disbelief.
“Yes,” she smiled.
“You mean I don’t have to drive here three times a week?”
“No.”
“And I don’t have to sit through their two sessions before I get to have a session?”
“No,” she said again, proving her Zen patience far surpassed mine.
“Will I get to kick the dummy?”
“Of course.” Her smile returned along with a knowing look. “His name is Bob and I know you’re going to love kicking him.”

Corbin Lewars is the author of Creating a Life: The memoir of a writer and mom in the making, which was nominated for the 2011 PNBA and Washington State book awards. Her essays have been featured in over twenty-five publications including Mothering and Hip Mama. She has been a writing coach and instructor for over fifteen years and currently sees clients in the old Carnegie Library Building in Ballard. Contact her for details.