Swallowing your pride is like waxing your own bikini line, aka torture. For those who have never experienced that, I will summarize.
The bikini line is the perimeter of a woman's bikini bottom where she would like to remove unwanted hair. To wax it, you smear warm sticky wax on the skin, apply a cloth, rub, count to three and rip. As you can imagine, these netherparts are ultra tender and hard to reach on your own.
Now swallowing your pride is somewhat the same process. You're upset at your husband for something silly and minuscule but you can't get over it. Queue smearing the hot unforgiving wax on your skin. You know you have to let it go or talk about it to get it off your mind so you begin to rub the cloth over the wax, preparing to purge the negativity. You've talked about it, you have nothing more to say but you still want some affirmation or at least groveling. But you can only stand there waiting in silence for so long. You've said what you needed to say and now it's time to move on. Time to rip it off. You count to three, completely dreading what is going to happen next. Not wanting to feel the discomfort of letting go, not getting exactly what you thought you deserved, the annoyance of forcing yourself to forget. 1, 2, 3......RIP.
and then, the endorphins. And now you feel a lot less hairy inside and out.
*us at the Louvre