Getting comfortable with discomfort

Fingers on BlackboardIt’s a funny thing about life: it’s teaching me things all the time if I just stop and listen. Back when my sons were about 8 and 10 years old, they used to want to wrestle with each other. I remember one afternoon when I was cooking dinner, and I started to hear some rough-housing escalation in the living room: voices raising, energy level rising. I heard some pushing and tangling going on out there. I stalked out into the living room, shouting, “Stop it! Stop it, now!”

They were on the floor, wrapped up around each other and they looked up at me — and the look on their faces wasn’t the extreme-battle-thirst-for-blood-anger look I was expecting, but perplexion: “huh, Mom…?”
Oh, crap.
It was me that was uncomfortable with what they were doing; they were fine.
Oh, crap: this was MY problem, not theirs. As a parent in a recent class asked, “Who’s crap is this?” This was definitely MY crap, my problem, my getting triggered, and so I decided right then and there to get comfortable with discomfort, since it was holding me back.
More on this topic soon. Any thoughts?
Oh, and yeah, “Wrestling happens outside.”

What Do You Think?