Article I Am The Boss Of My Emotions | The Human Equation Tapes

I Am the Boss of My Emotions

Chapter One: The Day Everything Felt Too Big

In the sunny little town of Maplewood, where the sidewalks were chalky and the trees had names, there lived a brother and sister named Milo and Poppy Bright.

Milo was seven years old, serious about Legos and very serious about not liking green beans. Poppy was five and a half, a tiny tornado of curiosity. Poppy had a stuffed owl named Mr. Hoot who wore a red ribbon and didn’t like loud noises.

They lived in a house with a blue door, a squeaky screen, and a golden retriever named Pickles who had no respect for personal space.

It was a good day.

Until it wasn’t.

The Pancake Incident

That morning, everything had started off just fine. The sun poured through the window like warm syrup. The smell of pancakes floated in from the kitchen. Poppy had even found both of her socks on the first try.

At the breakfast table Milo’s syrup touched his eggs.

And all emotional order was lost.

“NOOOOO!” Milo shouted, pushing his plate away like it had betrayed him.

“Eggs and syrup are friends!” Dad said cheerfully.

“They are NOT,” Milo declared, face flushed, eyes glassy. “It’s ruined! It’s all ruined!”

Poppy blinked. Pickles barked. Mr. Hoot stared, as owls do.

Dad took a slow breath. “Buddy, I think something else might be going on. Is it really about the syrup?”

Milo crossed his arms and muttered, “Maybe.”

The Storm Inside

Later that morning, at the park, Poppy had a meltdown of her own. Her favorite swing — the one that squeaked just right — was already taken.

Her face scrunched. Her fists balled. Her feet stomped so hard the wood chips flew up like popcorn.

“I DO NOT LIKE TODAY!” she yelled.

Milo, still brooding about breakfast betrayal, sat on a bench, arms folded. He watched Poppy stomp, huff, and puff.

“Swing rage,” he mumbled wisely.

A Conversation Under the Tree

Later that afternoon, Grandma Ellie came over. She always brought lemon cookies, wore fluffy socks, and said things like, “Your feelings are not the boss of you — but they do want to be heard.”

Milo and Poppy sat beside her on the porch swing. Even Pickles was calm (for about four seconds).

“Sounds like a big day,” Grandma said.

“Syrup ruined everything,” Milo sighed.

“My swing was stolen forever,” Poppy sniffed.

Grandma nodded like she understood every ounce of it.

“You know,” she said, “when we get really, really upset, it’s like there’s a storm inside. But guess what?”

“What?” they both said.

“You’re not the storm,” she said. “You’re the sky. The storm just passes through.”

A New Idea

Milo blinked.

Poppy tilted her head.

Pickles licked the bottom of someone’s sock.

“Feelings are just visitors,” Grandma continued. “They come in to tell you something. But they don’t get to be the boss of you — unless you let them.”

Poppy looked at Mr. Hoot. “What if I already let them be the boss?”

Grandma smiled. “Then you notice it, breathe deep, and take your turn back.”

“Can we practice?” Milo asked.

“You just did,” Grandma said.