I always got frustrated when I was torn tights... Someone crying over a broken nail, and I'm here because of the tights. The surrounding, especially men, tend to look at it as a female whims, tantrums over nothing, excessive to dramatize – well, think of the tights, what a trifle!

But the stronger the reaction to "change", the more painful emotional trauma that is behind it. Trauma seems to be hiding, covering themselves with layers of warm soft blankets of a person with this injury live. We are like the Princess and the pea, feel the pea, even if it is covered with a lot of the softest quilts. And it's not about women's tenderness and willingness to cry over nothing. It's about a soul that is aching that longs to be heard and be healed.

About that was my hose!

It was the 90s. Divorce just, no money, no work, in the hands of a small child, and I'm alone against all this. Spinning like a squirrel in a wheel, and to spare no one, and help, too. Rely only on themselves. You're the only one. Here it is! YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE. I in the childhood was very lonely as a child. Mom and dad not to me, they have their showdown. For me, if you were paying attention, it is only in the context of "to whom then you can pour your anger and dissatisfaction with life?". On the one hand I wish I saw that here I am, alive, here I built, and here drew, but what a beautiful flower I brought home. On the other hand I wanted to be invisible, to hide, so I did not see when again will come the need to drain someone of your anger. I'm accustomed itself to cope with their children's joys and sorrows. And loved cost houses out of the couch cushion – I'm hiding. Built themselves the illusion of security. But there, in his house, I was alone. It was a very sad and scary. Then, of course, learn to build a lot of other illusions, which helped not to see, not to feel terrible. And here the ' 90s. With her husband divorced, no job, no money, in the hands of a small child and I alone AGAIN. And then torn tights! And opens the channel to "release the pressure in the boiler" - cry a little for the lost tights, and really his alone.

And it's about the desire to be beautiful, thin, graceful woman on her heels, waving Quinceanera dresses, so light and fluttering. And has to be "a terrible woman with iron eggs", to take on male functions, save the family, or rather what was left of it. Maybe it's the cry of all women of my kind, whose share fell to revolution, war, recovery. The share of my generation had the restructuring of the ' 90s. And not war like, but drat do people say, anyway, all by yourself, alone...

Someone said – nothing lasts forever.

I say nothing is nothing.

For each torn tights, a broken fingernail, a failed dish, late for the bus, for every trifle, and every "inappropriate" reaction to it is something that is much bigger all these little things is the old sore, which, though long since covered with a crust, but ill not cease. And even through many of the quilts that we zagromozhdaet this pea. Old wound signaling in all possible ways, so we plucked up courage and finally looked at her, to cure, to heal. And that we may through this action have gained experience and became more masculine, and have learned to love yourself and treat yourself as a value that requires care and attention.

And let it remain a small scar, and will remind us of how we really are thin and fragile, and how easily we break. And this scar will teach us to treat ourselves gently. And to others too. Because other such thin and fragile.

we all Have our own nonsense, which is why we shed tears or get angry too much. Our mothers and grandmothers a very good taught us how to mask their pain and sometimes to give her a way out, caught in some detail. View the personal truth is always scary, and it is not accepted, no one's ever done, but to start a scandal with a neighbor because of the loud slammed of the door, or yell at your child because of a broken mug is always possible. Uncensored such a channel to ease the inner tension and pressure. How many can remember the children's grievances, when mom yelled for nothing as it seemed. And it's about something else screaming... I now have no excuses, not urged to "understand and forgive", that's another topic, separate. I'm talking about more. About the fact that for each such a trifle is something intimate and personal that wants to attract our attention, he wants to shout to us. Maybe it's fatigue from the eternal "must", or rebellion against imposed rules, or tears on something that never happened... you Can cling to things, to yell, to cry, and then shyly rouse – that's what I for nothing so I fell apart? and ... move on. After all, we must somehow continue to live.

And Acacias very attentive to our nothing. They tell me a lot about myself. I listen to them and learn to heal their wounds with a warm poultice of love and acceptance.

And what about your nonsense?