I find that when something is only mildly upsetting to me, I will blow up like a madwoman. (Someone cuts me off in traffic, my steak is overcooked, my cowlick won’t lie flat.) I will cuss, and throw things, and sometimes, in true tantrum fashion, thrash around and stomp my feet. These are embarrassing, but thankfully brief moments, and when you see me in them, you must know that I am not as mad as I seem. I apparently like to get all of the emotion out in a few seconds, let it realize itself before going back into daily life.

No, I find when I am truly mad, when you have upset me down to my core, I am eerily quiet. I will cooly ask overly simple questions in attempts to understand you. Maybe I will say nothing at all. It’s not the silent treatment, and it’s not a lesson in listening. It’s just sitting there, painfully volatile, while the anger sits on my tongue like a pearl.