My Journey to Emotional Maturity: Anger, Impatience, and Insecurity
An extra special "O for Other" Hop Story! Emotional maturity is not a destination; it’s a lifelong journey.
Understanding and learning from our emotions, in my opinion, is one of the most difficult things there is. But we don’t give up or give in. We swim with and against the waters of our inner world, not just for ourselves, but for the health of our relationships.
This isn’t a story of grand achievements. It’s a candid look at how I’ve stumbled, learned, and slowly grown into a more self-aware human. I’m still working out the kinks. After all, learning in all of its forms takes repetition. By exploring my path, I hope you find a familiar turn or a useful shortcut for your own journey.
The Fiery Dance of Anger
As a kid, I saw the darker shade of emotions in people. I perceived them as "sides." Like, Oh, he’s the angry monster right now and I just have to deal with it until his good side comes back. Now, I understand that anger is an emotion; it’s not who someone is.
However, anger directed at a child is a dangerous thing. There were times when I was afraid to express my feelings or even communicate because I dreaded someone else's outburst. I bottled everything up. And though I can't logically explain it, even now, if I start crying, my left eye always tears up first, well before the right. My only explanation is that during those long car rides when I was in the front passenger seat, getting yelled at by the driver, my internal instinct screamed, "DO NOT LET THEM SEE."
Looking back, it’s heartbreaking, but it is also a powerful motivator. My daughter, Zenya, does not get in trouble for crying. She gets in trouble if she fails to communicate her feelings respectfully. And “trouble” doesn’t mean I scream at her. It means we have a conversation in which she has to face what happened and shoulder any consequences. As far as communicating with her, If I feel frustrated or angry, I express those feelings early on. Not to scare her, but to model for her how to articulate emotions clearly and calmly. On the flip side, I also express when I’m feeling strong positive emotions, because I want her to know that accepting and understanding all of our emotions is how we grow.
My husband Jon gets this. He makes sticker art with all the emotions. In fact, for 2024, he created a motivational calendar with positive food puns that has been one of my fave calendars to date (pun intended, sorry).
The Subtle Sibling of Anger
Anger's sinister, long-term brother, Grudge, has always been my personal challenge. For me, immediate anger usually fades quickly. I take a breath and remind myself that I can't think clearly unless I'm taking a chill pill. Yet, my notoriously terrible memory somehow becomes perfectly clear when recalling times I’ve felt wronged. It’s bullshit. I can’t remember that kid’s name that Zenya played with yesterday, but when "Traver" pushed me off the second story of the playground in first grade? I remember it. When "BB" called me "Jessica NoCrack" (a play off my maiden name) in fifth grade? That memory is preserved.
I’m certainly not saying I still hold a grudge against those kids from my childhood, but it's been a struggle to let go of any perceived slight. I’ve come to realize that I can control my memory, and the resulting feelings, by deliberately switching my focus. I immerse myself in old photographs of me on my horse, Calico, revisit school trips to Washington D.C., or dwell on other bright spots from the past.
This tends to put a significant damper on lingering hard feelings. Then, I take a second look. Maybe I was “wronged” sometimes, but there were so many instances of my childhood when I was also “righted.” People helped me when they didn’t have to. I had great friendships and fantastic adventures. People like my grandmother (read about her here!) made sure of it.
And slowly, as if I’m dragging that stubborn emotion up a hill both ways in the snow barefoot, the grudge disappears entirely. I can then recall memories without feeling like I got the short end of the stick. Even the most painful ones are learning opportunities, and I wouldn’t be who I am without them.
We can’t change what happened. But we can choose how we feel about our overall experience of growing up. When we do that, it becomes a little easier as adults to shrug off the small stuff.
The Unconventional Naptime of Impatience
Impatience is defined by Oxford Learner’s Dictionaries as "The feeling of being annoyed by somebody/something, especially because you have to wait for a long time." We all have our own understanding of it. I consider myself a patient person when in a relaxed state. If I'm chilling on the couch and someone wants to make a snack before joining me for a Netflix binge, no problem. Take your sweet time. But if I'm on the couch with a rapidly melting ice cream sandwich, my internal thought is: Get over here NOW.
I don't think it's wrong to feel impatient sometimes. It’s how we express our frustration with waiting is where it counts. I also have a peculiar issue that began in high school: if I was in a class where the teacher was droning on, and I found myself staring at the clock, waiting for the bell, I would fall asleep. I still experience this on occasion.
Even during a decent movie, I tend to drift off. I don't know if this is an undiagnosed ADHD symptom (explored by the Sleep Foundation here) or simply my brain's polite way of saying, "Now is a good time to rest." Regardless, it has made certain situations tougher for me. From conking out during the math portion of my ACT test to snoring lightly in the middle of the sixth Harry Potter movie at the IMAX theatre, my brain just checks out.
Is this impatience? Or is it something else? Who knows. I think the lesson here is the same, though: in most cases, we can't control what's happening to us. But we can figure out what we need to pull through it. Going back to the ice cream scenario, I now keep any frozen confections in the freezer until the other person is ready to rock! If it’s movie time, I grab some water and a snack to keep the dozing session at bay. In most cases, we can control what we do and how we prepare for situations that we know might test our patience (or our tendency to zone out).
The Quiet Battle with Insecurity (and the Courage of Others)
Of the three emotions, insecurity and self-doubt have arguably been the most insidious, working quietly behind the scenes to erode confidence. Unlike anger or impatience, which often manifest outwardly, insecurity can be a deeply internal battle, making you question your abilities, your worth, or your place. For me, it often popped up when facing new challenges or perceived judgments, making me hesitate or overthink.
Learning to push through these moments has been a continuous process. It's about recognizing that feeling of inadequacy for what it is: a feeling, not a fact. It's about remembering past successes, including the small ones, and understanding that mistakes are part of growth, not proof of failure.
I’ve learned a great deal by observing the emotional maturity of others, particularly my husband, Jon. Jon has always had a fear of heights. It’s not just a mild discomfort; it’s a genuine, visceral phobia. Yet, ever since Zenya was born, he's consistently pushed through for her. From riding her first Ferris wheel when she was about two and a half to climbing up to the giant waterslides at Mt. Olympus Water Park in the Wisconsin Dells, I’ve watched him conquer that uneasy feeling. I don't think he'll ever "get over" that unsafe sensation, but his focus on making sure Zenya feels safe, I believe, helps him in turn.
My own insecurities are far less visible. Ever since I was on my own in college, I’ve felt anxious about group settings. It’s not that I'm necessarily an introvert, but I either feel the urge to talk a lot or completely zip up and just listen. Finding a happy medium is hard for me. I have a teaching background, so helping kids learn – even a pack of them – is fine. But adults? Despite teaching and managing dog training classes for many years, I’ve always felt slightly on edge when I’m around more than a few people.
With dog training, I had imposter syndrome, even though I was fully qualified and good at dog training and education (and yes, I trained the pet owners just as much, if not more, than their dogs). I’m not a leader by nature. I’d rather let someone else deal with the pressure. But I like helping to find solutions. I like making people feel more confident. I like empowering others to do better. This is great, but not exactly the right mindset for trying to start a conversation at a dinner party.
How do I handle it when I do have to be in a group setting? I remind myself that my company is good enough. I don’t have to be the funniest, loudest, quietest, or anything else. I can set my own boundaries for my comfort level and just let it roll from there.
This reminds me of a peculiar memory from my Anatomy class. We took a field trip. Unlike dull trips to history museums, our Anatomy teacher took us to places we would never have dreamed of going. We watched open-heart surgery in an open viewing room. On one occasion, we visited a cadaver lab where medical students were performing exploratory surgeries. Yep, I saw dead people.
We were surrounded by medical students who were older, smarter, and more educated. I kept my trap shut and just watched, being around so many people bothered me more than the bodies on the tables.
There was one cadaver that drew everyone’s interest: the med student had found a giant mass outside of the stomach. Even the MD professor was perplexed. Curious, I went to the cadaver’s chart and read it. Skin cancer. I then observed the black spots around the toes. I said, hardly above a whisper, "I bet it's a tumor because cancer spreads." No one except my anatomy teacher heard me. A few minutes later, the MD professor decided it must be a tumor. My anatomy teacher looked over at me and said, "I heard you, but you should speak up next time. You were right."
I held onto that tiny crumb of confidence. I've since understood and accepted that if I want to be heard, I need to speak. That doesn't mean I should pretend I'm always right, or that my opinion is superior. But life is a shared experience. I should give as much as I receive, even if it's not always easy for me to say what I'm thinking.
The Ongoing Journey
Emotional maturity isn't a fixed state. It’s a dynamic process of learning, unlearning, and relearning. I still get angry (and hold the occasional grudge), I still get impatient, and insecurity sometimes whispers in my ear. But now, I have more tools. I recognize the emotions for what they are. I understand that my reactions are within my control, even if the initial feeling isn't. And I'm learning to extend myself the same grace and understanding that I try to offer others. My journey continues, one breath, one thoughtful choice, and one moment of quiet courage at a time.
I hope that if you’re reading this, your own journey is full of joy, learning, and the freedom to express yourself in whatever way works for you.