It's really hard being half Sicilian. Especially when it's your dominant half.
It's just hard. It's just so hair-trigger. You've got the motherly sauce-n-hugs part, of course you do, but you have the hired gun part too. You can't help that. It's a good with the bad thing, and it's nothing to be guilty or ashamed of.
The problem is, your instinct is so sharp and pin-prick ready for a single venomous strike that it takes conscious deliberate effort, and lots of acceptance of that side of yourself, to tame, understand, and eventually heal the Sicilian Within.
I have learned that the best way to quiet her down is to pat her hand for a while and let her sit with reassurance. Shhhh. It's okay little killer self. Shhhh. Mama loves you. Be a good little hit-chick and rest your head on this pillow for a while... nuh uh, now sweet knuckles, no moving around, just relax. shhhhh. settle and rest... shhhh.
It's about loving that part of you that can dream up thousands of ways to express your Sicilian talent, and yet also has the wisdom not to.
Today, I will love my Sicilian Within.
Today, I will help another fellow man rather than ponder what kind of design tire treads would make on his back.
Today, I will offer my hand to a fellow woman rather than wondering if her wrist is thin enough to snap with a single well-placed swipe.
I am growing day by day, don't you think?