When I was a child, if I was naughty (which only happened twice, I swear), my parents would send me to my room until they deemed my punishment sufficient and granted me permission to rejoin the rest of the family.
Both times, it was glorious. Alone time with my toys, crayons and a journal to write my angry manifesto? Book me in.
If I slammed my bedroom door, that added another 10 minutes to the punishment. Ah, but there is something so deeply satisfying about a good door slam, so I tacked that on to the time clock.
For the record, my parents did not give harsh punishments, because they were loving and reasonable. Also, I was an angel and never did anything bad, so there’s that. I went through much of my life without getting into deep trouble. Some might say it’s because I didn’t get caught, but nobody asked them.
Not much has changed. I almost never do anything bad. I have a terribly clean record for goodness. Some might say I’m just smart enough not to get caught, but as noted above, their opinions were not requested.
I’m nice to a fault. Ask any of my friends. They will say, “you know, Kelly, you wouldn’t be this stressed out if you weren’t so nice to everyone. Life is much easier if you aren’t nice all the time.”
That’s very kind of them to say.
After a difficult day and a strong desire to be left alone, it struck me that I can’t be the only adult who wishes that sometimes, someone (that someone being me) would send me to my room, alone, for an extended amount of time. Solitary confinement resulting in bliss.
So, I did it. I sent myself to my room. I saw it as a temporary reprieve for the comfort (read: safety) of others. It’s a sort of “take your bad attitude and stay inside until you can come back through that door with a positive attitude” theme (I swear I just heard my mother’s voice there).
My plan is to stay here for at least five days, or until I run out of snacks.
In fact, I’m writing this column from my self-imposed time-out, from the comfort of my cozy quarters. My phone is out of reach. The computer stays because writing helps my mood adjustment, but also so I can stream a rom-com without judgement.
I slammed the door too, for dramatic effect, but then yelled out to my family “sorry,” because the truth is, I’m not mad at my family. Not at all.
I just need a break. From everyone. Everything. All of it. And no, I don’t have a dinner plan. Sorry.
My misery does not love company, unless it’s my dog, so Scout has been invited into my sanctuary. Poor pup. She didn’t mean to become my support animal. It just happened by default.
I know she is feeling my angst, but like me, loyalty prevents her from walking away from a buddy in need. Yet she has the right to be exhausted by her person who is beyond exhausted and on course for burnout. I know the truth, though. Scout is here for the treats. Can’t blame her. I’m pretty loyal to people who feed me chips. I get it.
You may think I’m crazy, but I say this kindly, yet firmly for your benefit: go to your room.
You can thank me later.
