I love you.

I have finally remembered that I am a loving being.

It's taken me almost 40 years to finally fall in love and I had to start with myself.

I was not keen on love or sweetness for most of my life which is odd to admit but it's true.

I had some screwed up ideas on love, strength and who I am or was for a very long time.

I used to think that being strong meant I needed to be the loudest girl in the room, the girl who could drink everyone else under the table, the girl who could shrug her shoulders and say

 "I'm a fucking mess, nobody loves me and I don't care"!

I used to think being strong meant I should chain smoke Marlboro Reds, wear baggy clothes and never brush my hair.

I thought being strong meant being aggressive and hot tempered.

I thought all these things without understanding how oppressive and confining this belief was.

I spat on love.

I thought romance was for the disillusioned and holding hands was for the needy.

Hugs and kisses?

Forget it...that was for weaklings.

Softies.

That stuff was for people who had lived easy lives.

People who had lived lives void of violence, mental illness and loss which wasn't my story.

No. 

My story was peppered with sexual harassment and assault.

My story was full of death and anger and I wasn't going to let my guard down.

Ever.

I thought my strength, my toughness was in my victimhood and a fiery badge of 'keep your distance' that I had etched into my flesh as a tattoo.

Me.

In my mind, I  was only strong if I came across as wild, stern and without regret.

But, I was wrong.

Being an asshole seems easy but it's actually very exhausting.

The constant need to compare myself to others, to find ways to be angry at everyone else...always putting up walls and being unapproachable is draining.

It's a lonely way to survive and it only intensifies when you've become comfortable with not asking for help or understanding.

But now I am older and perhaps like a criminal who graduates out of crime...

I finally got tired of putting on an act all the time because the tender part of my heart never died..it just got quiet and shy until it couldn't contain itself anymore.

The arrival of my son, Atticus woke up that little girl in me who knew how to smile and love everyone.

His need to be loved appeared like waves that constantly crash into the walls of a cliff...the impermanent nature of even the hardest and most reinforced hearts began to weaken and my defenses started to crumble into the sea.

I know it's a cliche to say that motherhood changes you but it does.

I thought I had properly prepared for the storm of this persons arrival.

But...I was wrong.

I thought I could love him without loving myself but it was impossible so here I am learning to love.

40 years is a long time to learn but when you've become used to self hate it was difficult to see the train wreck of me as anything salvageable but somehow...

My heart has grown bigger.

It's made space for me but it's taken time.

It didn't just happen and I didn't do it alone.

It took seeing my child adopting my habits of self loathing and meeting a man who wanted so desperately to love me that he called me out on my shit to wake me up and understand that I was going through the motions of love but still putting my heart in a place that was unreachable.

Have you ever had someone angry with you for not loving yourself?

It walloped my brain in ways I could not expect so I've been working on it.

Everyday. 

It's become my strength to be vulnerable and to be patient.

It's a challenge for me to not take the bait of being a raging jerk whenever I feel insecure.

My long held mental habits still jump up and down and say "don't forget me, be mad, be angry" but love is a practice.

My heart, it is a muscle and if I don't exercise it regularly, daily, every freaking minute then I know what happens:

I suffer emotional atrophy and the first person I stop loving is me.

So...learning to be open to happiness, love and joy means being able to pull myself up with a heart that quakes and say loudly, "let's be kind, let's smile until we mean it.

If there is pain it's just a reminder of a heart that's open to loving, to being hurt and having the courage to do it anyway".

I love being in love.

Turning on the light.

Last week a Tucson woman was raped as she jogged along a path that I walked many times with my son and our dog.

The morning it happened before I read about it on facebook I coincidentally found my mind wandering during my morning meditation practice to memories of my own assaults...I breathed it in and told myself that I wasn't alone in this and that neither were the many others who have experienced rape and sexual assault.

I allowed the tears to flow, I breathed and moved on.

After my sit, I read about her assault.

I felt sadness for her, anger towards her attacker and compassion for them both because this careless act would only add suffering to each of their lives.

Then...I shrugged my shoulders and self regulated my emotions to believing shit happens and I can't fix this cultural sickness.

I wanted to believe that if I could just 'throw away' the feelings and avoid thinking about what had happened to her I'd be able to maintain my sanity throughout the day.

Of course, it didn't actually work.

I knew it wouldn't.

I knew it would come back to slap me in the face and it did.

The next day, I saw that an event was being planned to go to the site of the rape and bring 'light' to that space that had been overrun by darkness.

I was surprised by my reaction: I felt my eyes roll and I scoffed at how seemingly naive and useless this gathering seemed to me.

How was a bunch of strangers getting together to practice yoga and drum circle going to help this woman? 

How would it make the sick understand the pain of their actions?

I felt confused by my emotions until it hit me that what I was feeling was sadness for myself because the spaces that I was hurt in have continued to be spaces that hold pain.

I grew up here.

Every time I drive south on I-19 towards Tubac, I pass the house that I was first molested in when I was 4 years old.

It's a beautiful 2-story house with huge cypress trees that can be seen from the roadway and as I drive closer to it I think to myself 'that's it, that's the place' and then I narrow my eyes to focus forward and speed by thinking 'I hate that house and I wish it would crumble to the ground'.

I feel similar about a place in front of Armory Park and the guest house of my Mother's house.

I was stalked for several weeks and then sexually assaulted in Armory Park at the age of 17.

The night after the attack I was raped by an ex boyfriend who lived in a guest house on my mother's property.

I had gone to talk to him about what had happened because I hadn't told many people and he raped me.

I was confused.

This wasn't the first time he had hurt me and not the last time either but I didn't tell anyone about it.

Not really.

Instead, I moved out of my mother's home, became terrified to walk alone and even more afraid to share the details of the traumas I had just experienced.

I was in High School.

I was good at avoiding things and stuffing them down.

I managed to avoid the sites of pain for quite awhile.

I made excuses not to be near the places that held such sad memories for me. 

So?

Up until recently, I haven't really dealt with my shit in a healthy way.

20 years since the events at Armory Park and my mother's, I have tried to reclaim those spaces somewhat but my attempts were done alone and during situations that in hindsight were not the best choices:

For 2 years I organized Tucson's All Souls Procession's Altar Vigil at Armory Park.

When I knew that spot had been chosen by the organizers I felt anxious but told myself it would be a way to reinvent that space for myself.

I told no one what happened there and instead spent the time trying to hold back tears because now that space was not only the place where I was physically hurt but a place where I publicly grieved for all of the friends and family members I had lost over the years.

What I had hoped would help me conquer my fears only blindsided me with weeks of panic attacks and a big Potpourri of mind fucking stories meant to muster my strength but left me feeling like a failure.

The other major spot, my mother's guest house: I managed to avoid it for years as she filled it with renters but recently after leaving my Ex-husband, I did find myself contemplating moving in. 

I chose not to but not before being told by a dear friend that I needed to 'get over what happened there' and take advantage of the potentially cheap rent.

I don't know how to make these places right for me.

Maybe, I never will but I do think there is value in attempting to bring peace to these places.

The victim of last week's attack attended the gathering at the place she had been raped.

I wish I had been there.

For her.

Bringing light to places where trauma occurred may not erase the memories but it's better than just turning away when one knows they are coming near a place that holds terrible memories.

I am not sure if I can ever do that for myself but I'm glad someone did her her.

I'm really glad.

Not going to be perfect.

I'm trying to help my son become better at failing.

I want him to be ok with mistakes, with a bit of messiness...

I don't want him to think that if he messes up coloring an assignment correctly that he is a terrible person.

I don't ever again want to see him screaming at himself for being stupid because he picked the wrong crayon to color with.

I hope to never have him hand me another homemade birthday card with his eyes averted from my gaze because he says "I did it myself" with my mother beaming behind him and I can see so clearly by the way that it's perfectly crafted to look 'childish' that my mother did it.

I don't want him to say with shame "Well, Grandma had to fix it because the hearts I drew weren't right".

He's 6 years old and if he gets stuck thinking that things must be perfect in order to have value then he will always be suffering.

I want him to learn this early because I'm only really understanding it now.

I grew up in a family where failure wasn't an option.

As my father put it..."nobody remembers who came in second" so me and my brothers had to be the best at everything.

My mother had my IQ tested when I was 4 years old and I tested high enough that she enrolled me into Kindergarten. Not surprisingly, I proved to be too immature to sit still all day and follow directions (I'm still not good at either of those) so I was kicked out but there was never a mention of me not being ready, it had to do with the school and the teachers. 

Me? 

My mother said I was perfect and if anyone said otherwise they were jealous of me.

I hated that story.

I remember a feeling of intense responsibility being thrust on my shoulders that I had no choice but to be the best at everything that came my way and if I wasn't it was going to be someone else's fault.

When it was Girl Scout Cookie Time, I knew I had to sell the most cookies so I did.

If there was an art project due and I wasn't doing it 'perfect' my mother would take it over and finish it.

The Blue Ribbon I won for Cake Decorating at the County Fair?

My mother proudly showed everyone and bragged about how amazing I was but I can tell you at best...the only thing I did was break the eggs that went into the cake batter. 

I knew I wasn't the best and what I came to learn was that my effort wasn't what was important. I learned that my skills with a frosting tip needed 'help' and at the end of the day what really counted was being perceived as better than the rest.

I couldn't possibly be seen as good at one thing and just 'ok' at something else.

No me. 

Not a Volpe.

So...for years I carried that around. I had to be perfect or at least seem it.

By the 6th Grade as the first signs of puberty appeared as uncomfortably large breasts and chunky thighs, I began hiding out in the bathroom and throwing up every little morsel of food so that I wouldn't feel so awkward. 

So, I could still look like a perfect Ballerina.

I got straight A's. I won awards for my writing. I studied and did well at the things that interested me and spent summers in my bedroom getting better at things I didn't like because the one thing I knew was that I couldn't fail.

But, I did.

Again and again.

I failed to connect with people, I failed to trust anyone and I failed to believe I was good enough.

This was only reaffirmed after my mother pressured me to get a nose job. Months later she commented that I'd be even prettier if I had my ears pinned back.

I remember that being one of those tiny breakthroughs for my brain that said "Holy Shit, this has nothing to do with me. My Mom is literally living through my accomplishments (I don't think being pretty is an accomplishment by the way but she did) just as my father was living through my brother Jon, a football star and Stanford graduate. My parents had decided to play a never ending game where winning was the only goal and we were the game pieces that moved at their whim.

This was something they were taught by their parents, I assume but I don't want to repeat that pattern as a parent.

It's proved to be a difficult habit to break for myself but I don't want that pressure to be put upon my son by me.

He will get it everywhere else but I want him to know that his crooked lines and backward 5s are interesting.

His scrambled eggs with a bit of shell are a first attempt. 

I want my son to know that he can be great at doing things.

He can.

He can be great at whatever he wants to devote his time to but being #1 is worthless if he hates himself in the process.

It is good to master a craft but when it keeps you from being able to smile when you mess up, if it keeps you from becoming a bit more empathetic when others mess up then I really don't know what the point is.

So...as he is finally learning to ride his bike I've let him fall. 

A lot.

And to me the sweetest thing he said was "ok, I'm ok. I'm just learning to fall, right now. I'm going to get back up and try again".

The Story of Too Much Information.

We're approaching the beginning of a New Year and a new decade for me.

A few days ago I was feeling hopeful and awake but again that hammer of doubt has come pounding behind me saying "you have to be perfect and you're not". 

It's the worst trait. I have never had much a problem with pride but doubt?

It's the worst and it's as if it got stuck somewhere deep inside of me and I've been feeding it my whole life. 

Not all the time or even a lot but just enough to keep it alive and pissed off because it hasn't been able to fully thrive so it gets hungry and it starts scratching at my heart and my head and I find myself today thinking that even though I know I haven't fucked up THIS week...everyone thinks I'm a loser. 

I'm a big hot mess of disaster and it sucks. 

I'm feeling sorry for myself but instead of thinking 'poor me, poor baby' it's actually the opposite.

I don't love me today. I don't even like me.

I'm feeling gross, inefficient, sloppy, short tempered and have taken up eating bread as my main food group.

I guess...and I hope I am having an ebb of rolling towards the bottom, crashing hard, pausing and then floating back up to a place of more ease.

I suppose the issue that's making this all feel so overwhelming and suffocating is that I think I'm not supposed to feel this way.

I put so much energy and thought into being in acceptance of the moment but ugggghhh...I hate this. 

I hate feeling this way. I hate wanting to scream and cry anytime anyone else shows a bit of impatience towards me. I hate that I look in the mirror and only see a phony face with a boring nose. 

I hate the fake tone of my hair but I'm not ready to be old.

I'm failing at everything I try to be good at.

I'n in full Winter mode but I'm not even doing that well.

Does that make sense?

I want to be alone but I still have another week before I get more than a handful of hours to myself and knowing me...I will probably do everything I can to feel guilty about it.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Is it PMS?

Is it depression? 

Is it...oh, is it...too much gluten?

I'm hell bent on doubting all of those possibilities by the way and I'm preparing to go on a retreat and I'm terrified that all of the people I meet will see what a loser I am and I will just have a much longer list of folks disappointed in me.

This will pass.

Yesterday...I felt content.

Yesterday...I was in love with everyone.

We are beginning a New Year and I am feeling scared, unstable and wanting so much to hide in a corner and cry but I don't have the time so I will do it right now.

In front of everyone.

It's my Top 40.

I know, I know age is but a state of mind. 

It ain't nothing but a number however tomorrow I will be 40 years old which means I've been breathing on this planet for 14,609 days.

I like to think that I've used most of this time wisely.

I like to think that but it isn't true.

I've spent much time not doing much of anything and plenty of time engaging in mindless and/or reckless behavior.

What I can do now is reflect and notice what I have learned about myself and this world we live in.

The following things aren't intended to be pearls of wisdom but my own life's observations so humor me and then go on with your day.

Thank you.

1. I do not like doughnuts not even a little.

2. No matter how old they get...ones siblings will always be inappropriate and gross and by siblings I mean my 3 brothers.

3. My useless defense mechanism of internally saying "fuck you, I'm going to laugh in your face" when challenged with criticism or discipline is still something I default to when feeling wounded.

5. I am more like my mother than I am not.

6. I will always enjoy watching The Wizard of Oz.

7. Having big cartoon eyes can often get me out of or attract trouble.

8. I wish I didn't worry so much about people liking me but I do.

9. Being alone is wonderful.

10. Cooking is a craft, a meditation and an act of love.

11. How the toilet paper rolls is important to some people but not to me.

12. I don't have a favorite color.

13. I like music that reminds me of salty air, stormy nights and whiskey. It's true...I'm a fan of Pirate Songs.

14. Being a mother is something I adore and something I continuously question my ability to do well.

15. No matter how many therapists I see, how much I meditate and practice yoga ...I am still neurotic and human. 

16. I love to learn.

17. Breakfast is my least favorite meal.

18. I am fickle about everything or am I?

19. I am riddled with doubt but don't question that it is my most self destructive quality.

20. I prefer weather that is too hot to too cold and I most definitely do not like the feeling of wind but I like the sound of it.

21. The theramin and water phone are under appreciated instruments.

22. I am a loyal friend.

23. I am a passionate lover.

24. The world will always be in conflict but there is never a moment wasted to make that untrue.

25. I want Universal Healthcare.

26. I grit my teeth whenever I hear footsteps coming up quickly behind me on a city street.

27. Being told to smile pisses me off.

28. I prefer to grocery shop daily than buy in bulk.

29. I can sing fairly well when alone or with Atticus but only then.

30. I feel sad that people are attracted to justifying prejudices and that we have entertainment networks that masquerade as news networks to further the oppression of others.

31. I often confuse my anxiety for anger.

32. There is never a season that isn't boot season.

33. I have accomplished more than I expected but not what I expected.

34. Love and attraction may not always be found with who you think it's going to be with.

35. I like to fight and debate and be proven wrong.

36. Art is the best way to communicate from the heart without words or hugs.

37. I'm not a hugger but want to be.

38. I still want my Daddy when times are confusing or unclear.

39. I take the pain of clients home with me even though I know it's unhealthy.

40. Smothering tofu with hot sauce is better than just eating hot sauce with a spoon.

That's it. 

Or atleast that's 40 things and I'm all about that number today.

Sly like a fox.

Remember how a few weeks ago I said I would quit drinking? 

No? 

Well, I did and I lied.

Or maybe, I can rephrase it as...I changed my mind.

Is that just sly word play? 

Maybe but the reason for this flip-flop isn't because I can't live without alcohol but because it's not the drinking that's the problem...it's my 'all or nothing' attitude. 

I am either going to be Straight Edge or I am going to be a Lush.

I've worn the badges before:

I'm going to be Vegan for 23 years and then I'm going to eat so much flesh that I get sick.

I'm going to have sugar for breakfast, lunch and dinner and then give it up entirely.

I'm going to be a HOT MESS for years and then remake myself as a Yogini Goddess.

Ughhh... eye roll, please.

But, this behavior was learned or should I say happily embraced from my parents.

Especially, my father.

He needed to be the best at everything but also fluctuated between his extremes of consumption.

He was an expert at Yo-Yo dieting.

One month it would be nothing but bee pollen and wheat germ on tuna salad and then it would switch to nightly grilled peanut butter sandwiches and ice cream drenched in honey.

It was all or nothing...back and forth which is a terrible cycle, for me, anyway.

In spite of this well practiced habit of pacing the edges of sweetness and disaster, I have actually come a long way from gleefully wearing the perfectionist crown but now and then... 

The Sparkly Queen of Perfectionism stops by and starts knocking at the front door with all her distractions of jewels and prizes right when I'm in the middle of something or I'm tired and not properly dressed.

It's annoying.

So what do I do?

Do I say "not now, I'm busy" or "I'm sorry, but I wasn't expecting guests today".

Nope.

I panic and fall into an 'oh my gawd, where's my perfect outfit, how can I appear like I have it all together, am I bowing correctly?' inner dialogue and I begin panting at the mouth to get that pretty crown back where it belongs...on my too small head where it can then slip down my face and become an akward collar that makes it difficult for me to turn my neck and shift perspective.

It's a obnoxious little scenario.

So, what has got me all up in a tizzy this time?

Why did I decide I needed to quit drinking?

For one, I was finding myself thinking about having a beer as soon as I walked in the door instead of wanting to hug my son and boyfriend.

That's a problem.

I was feeling as if I couldn't possibly be good company without it and I've been abusing alcohol that way since I left my Ex-husband almost 4 years ago.

I made no apologies for becoming a manic drunk right after I left him...in fact I made it my mission to overindulge in everything.

Beer. Whiskey. Men. Candy. Clothes. 

If I wanted it...I was going to have it.

I could have handled myself with more grace but I didn't and that's ok because I learned a lot about myself from those experiences:

sex doesn't equal love, sleeping with all your friends is fun but it always creates drama, eating sugar all the time makes me moody but drinking? 

Well...I just gained an unhealthy routine and when your son begins lecturing you about drinking too much beer you can't NOT stop and pause and go 'oh, shit...there's many things I hope my son will carry as memories but watching me open a beer before sitting down to ask about his day shouldn't be one of them'.

So, I berated myself as a failure and decided I would remake myself as Super Mom...super yogini, super woman and a model of Sattivic purity and I hit the reinvent myself button and the lies began....

Lie #1. I am a "happy go lucky, anything goes" type.

Lie #2. I'm a bad person for drinking, especially since my job is to teach people moderation and self-acceptance.

Lie #3. The new me will love every sober minute of my life.

Awwww...Fucking Hell, already.

What a bunch of crappola.

Seriously.

I'm a girl who needs stability, moderation and self acceptance not a bunch of 'throw the old me away and be a shiny new version of the girl I used to know' so I decided to put the brakes on all of it.

My practice is moderation and awareness not attachments to perfection and adversity to being human.

I'm human. My hair is greying. My face is showing the signs of loving sunshine, beer and smoking cigarettes when I was younger but I have grown up. That's all. So? I'm not going to quit drinking, I'm going to eat meat now and then when it's offered to me and sometimes I'm going to buy crap I don't need but it's fine.

It really is.

I have spent the past few weeks looking at why I want what I want.

What benefit will I gain and the reality is it's freakin hard to live with awareness and I'm not going to do it well ALL THE TIME but I do enjoy challenge and I know it's good for me.

That's how I grow...when I have that inner impulse that says 'just chug the damn beer' or 'buy the Long Johns with pictures of foxes on them and do it right now'...it's a challenge to pause before just going for it but it's also a habit that's actually easy to embrace.

It really is simple.

Stop. 

Breathe.

Easy.

I just forgot for awhile.

So, I'm back to practing what I preach and doing it before the temptations raise their jazz hands with a 'look at me' exuberance.

So far so good.

The loved ones are loved first when I come home and if I want a beer at the end of the day...I might have it.

It's ok.

I am ok.

And the Long John's with the foxes on them...well, they are nice and cozy in my closet.

I'm the Dragon Lady.

Why do we think it's so bad to be angry?

A few weeks ago, I shared my anger regarding a young man who was standing on the corner with a sign that said "You deserve Rape" on one side and "Whore" on the other. I was angered that as I was just trying to make a left turn to go grocery shopping I was suddenly confronted with a huge sign that said I deserved to be raped. 

I was also angry that a woman who was also just trying to walk to class was suddenly visually assaulted with a peer holding a sign sending her the same message. I was angry that parents would have to explain the "what is rape, Mommy" to their kids so I FBed about it.

I didn't expect it to make this guy's sign disappear by posting about it but instead of quietly putting my anger to the side and saying he doesn't deserve my time...I decided that indeed he did. I received a lot of feedback and it was all helpful for me to process my unexpected emotions but my anger wasn't consuming me or causing me torment. It was anger. I stated it and I had no ill will against him however not everyone interpreted it that way.

I have practiced Lovingkindness and Forgiveness for several years now but it really has only been a recent thing that I can honestly say that my heart is a forgiving heart. And when I say recent...I mean like last month.

I forgave all of my sexual predators years ago. I've forgiven myself for many of my mistakes.

However, the person that I allowed to hold my heart captive has been my mother and even though I have been trying to forgive her since I was a child...it wasn't until I fully embraced my anger regarding the experiences that I was able to get through it. 

I had to sit with the rage, the disappointment and sadness first and then to heal...I had to confront it and her  directly and I did. Not with violent words or an amped up heart rate but with honesty and love. A shitload of love and deep breaths.

It was extremely terrifying for me because as a child my defensive mechanism was to make excuses for her and blame myself but it wasn't until I looked at her with compassion and simultaneously hated her actions that I was able to grieve and move on. 

So...I have no fear of anger but it seems to be the big bad wolf of the yoga and "enlightened" crowd in general.

My perception is that if I am not quoting peace, love and rainbows then there must be something broken in my heart but to me I see it as a freedom from resistance because it's going to be there.

I recently met with an incredibly sweet and kind woman who met me for a consult at work to discuss ways she could be more present in her life. I asked her in what way did she want to practice and she talked about the usual desire to notice the beauty around her, to eat with more awareness and do things more slowly which was all good but then she said she didn't want to get angry at her husband when he won't help her around the house. She didn't want to be angry that he said its her job to cook and clean even though they are both retired. She didn't want him to think she was a mean person.

Well...needless to say I told her there was NOTHING wrong about feeling disappointment, unappreciated and angry about being disrespected.

She looked at me as if my face had suddenly morphed into the head of Yosemite Sam.

How could her meditation teacher be telling her she can be angry and it's ok?

That's not what she wanted.

She didn't want to experience anger.

It's unpleasant. Or is it?

After her mouth closed and she took a breath I explained that what she was really looking for was tools to navigate that anger in a way that isn't so reactive and emotionally charged and by all means...I get it. 

I work on it EVERY DAMN DAY.

Once she understood that anger isn't a bad thing she actually seemed relieved.

Now, Is it going to fix her issues with her mysogenistic husband? I have no idea.

Anger and sadness are inevitable but we all seem to want to push it away OR wallow in it. 

I guess we do the same with joy and love. We either run from our feelings or cling to them just as we do people, things, sensations and thoughts.

We want things to be concrete and clear but in order to have clarity about anything you have to pause and have the patience to consider both sides of the coin first. We want joy but we must also experience sorrow, isn't that correct? If we are angry or sad it just means we care passionately about something or atleast this is a lesson I have taken from a dear friend and unintended mentor.

(Speaking about you, MG).

I don't think expressing anger in a nonviolent way is anything to be afraid of. I don't think it lessens my desire for a world filled with understanding and compassion and I don't think it negates my daily practice of Lovingkindness.

In fact, when I share my anger and outrage about something repulsive, I find that it inspires me to be better person.

My heart doesn't harden when I FB status that someone is being a jerk. Their behavior was awful.

I also understand that 'the jerk' will always suffer more because they must live with themselves and with hearts that are lacking a relief from their own suffering.

As a friend responded on the day that I expressed so much sadness and anger on that funny public forum "hurt people, hurt people". 

It's not an excuse but just some insight so that my heart doesn't lash out in a violent way to perpetuate the cycle.

Of course, the real work begins with taking that anger and using its inspiration to create change and inspire others not to wish violence on someone else. 

We "deserve love". 

That boy on the street standing with his sign deserves love. He doesn't have it right now.

I don't think I am the one that will change his heart but I can teach my son that when he's angry nobody needs to pay for it. 

He can be angry but find a way to learn from it, to be with disappointment and rejection so he doesn't grow up thinking that others deserve pain but not to hide from his anger because it's going to be there and it's not a bad thing.