The late bloomer

„I'm a late bloomer” he says...
My mind has been gravitating around these words for the last couple of days. And around remorse. I still think my feelings were mostly justified, but probably the hurtful irony wasn’t. Aaa, sweet old cut-throat irony. Always comes in handy when you’re mad. You don’t have to raise your voice, just present the words in way that, for sure, will make an impact .
Why is it that when I consult my friends they never say, girl, you are too harsh, instead they say, you are too tolerant? I don't know why I even bother to go to them for advice. I don't like what they say anyways. And they barely know anything about this issue. They only see my side of the story which is not entirely objective.
Sometimes I seem to have all the patience and all the understanding in the world. Sometimes...not so much. I don't want to become my mother's daughter. I don't want to think like her or act like her. I wish I had a better, nicer way to express my disapproval or my disappointment. As a matter a fact I did find that way several times. Why not always? Why can’t I always be nice, and calm, and balanced? Or at least just balanced? Even when I think am entitled to some anger. Why can’t I be the same, no matter what the other person says, or does?