Big Emotions Pt. 1: Anger

As a child growing up in what at best could be described as an angry household, anger was the most punishable offense we children could commit. Looking back now, I find that ironic to say the least.  Why should it be so?

It was how anger was handled in our home that seemed rather messed up.  No slamming of a bedroom door, no raging at the adult who was calling us out on our actions.  That part was reasonable.  What was less reasonable was the expectation that we'd show no emotion at all, never admit or own to any anger at any time.  Injustices were to be suffered in silence, without speaking up.  If we did, then we were punished physically as well as with verbal and emotional abuse.  We were meant to simply accept the situation and immediately correct our actions to suit the controlling adult.  All anger you see, was seen as disrespect.  And disrespect was always followed by punishment.

What we learned was that all anger was bad.  As a result, one of us grew up believing that the only acceptable way was to show no anger whatsoever, no matter what occurred.  Another of us made anger a way of life.  To this day he is chronically angry at every one over everything.  And the middle child fell somewhere between my method of showing no anger and the other's method of blowing up by using self-abuse, often pulling stupid stunts that could result in loss of life.  We all three were damaged by the denial of our right to feel anger.

As an adult, I have struggled to deal with anger, my own and anyone else's.  When my children were upset and angry about a punishment, I allowed them to express it freely.  I lay ground rules for them to follow.  They were allowed to express their rage (i.e. screams and name calling and general fussing which usually followed a reprimand they disliked) by going to their room or outdoors and venting that first flush of rage through a pillow or going outdoors.  No throwing of items was allowed.  No destruction of inanimate objects was allowed.    I asked only that if they were going to call me names, they do so where I could not possibly hear it. Otherwise, it would be grounds for punishment.  When they were more calm and less volatile, they could come talk to me about why they were upset.  But the first flush of anger, when one is most likely to strike out with the intent of hurting another, that was to be worked out alone.   

Now, I'm not by any means saying this was the best method, but to me it seemed the most reasonable means of getting through that first expression of anger and upset where disrespect was most likely to occur.  I did and do believe that first and foremost a child is to treat an adult with respect.  I also happen to believe that as an adult it is my duty to treat a child with respect.  And that means honoring what they are feeling as real.  And apologizing sincerely when I'm in the wrong.   

But to return to my own anger issues, burying my anger led to severe depression.  Anger turned inward usually does express itself in deep depression.  Anger can be a scary emotion to deal with, especially when one has never been allowed to express it in any manner. 

It's unhealthy to suppress anger constantly.  For both the one suppressing it and those who are in relationship with you, it proves to be terribly unhealthy.   By withholding the expression of real anger from a partner or friend, you're essentially lying to them.  Seldom do friendships survive the volcanic flow of anger when it is finally released from a seemingly unruffled friend.  Sometimes, intimate relationships can't handle it either.  And the result is that we, who don't understand how to handle our own emotional rage, retreat back into the shell of depression with the feeling that we were wrong to ever express ourselves.

Years ago, depressed and chronically ill, my first husband was called to return to duty during the Gulf War.  He blithely went off to camp and left me at home with two children, three months of past due bills and a seriously overdrawn bank account.  He never once sent me any money.  Resources for help were unknown to me. Now I understand that I might have gone to the base and gotten information and help but at that time I didn't know that I could.   He mentioned how much money he was getting, of course, and wrote happy letters home telling me how he was spending it, too.  

Admittedly my marriage was already on its deathbed and death rales were about all that indicated it had any life at all.  I knuckled down and did all I could to manage on my lone salary.  My 'have to, must do' instincts kicked in hard and by the time he returned I'd paid off the very large overdraft at the bank, caught up all the bills save two that he had to provide active military information for refigured interest rates.  I kept the electricity and water and phone on, admittedly a state in which we were never accustomed to having all at once.  We had propane gas to heat with, too... Again, not a state of affairs we were accustomed to live in.   I kept the car fueled and fed us and I did all this on my small salary.

But anger burned deep inside and when he returned home unexpectedly, the War being declared over and done in 8 weeks' time, I knew that whatever we'd had was done and over.  And when he accused me of not caring enough to pay all the bills while he was away, I quietly and firmly told him the marriage was over and I packed up the kids and left.   I took refuge at Granny's, sleeping on her couch.  Less than a week later, on my way to work, I was hit by a drunk driver. From January until August, I survived biting back all the upsets and simply did what I had to do in order to get physically healed and find a place to live and try to make a life for myself and my children.

Things were not easy.  There were many people determined to cow me and shame me. There were many people who freely expressed their anger at me, for what I supposedly put them through, though heaven help me, why I was responsible for all their emotions is far beyond me. I kept my gaze forward and my lips, and feelings, compressed and simply got on with it.

Until the day I broke.  

My car broke down.  It was a recently purchased car and I'd called the dealership to ask for help explaining that I'd already made two rather large costly repairs on the car within a week or so of purchasing.  I asked that they tow the car and make the next set of repairs, at least in part so that I'd have a running car in order to get to work.  The person I spoke with was less than nice to begin with.  He became insulting as I continued to persist in asking for some sort of help.  When he expressed his personal opinion of me, though I had never met him even once, it was the moment I finally broke open and the anger spewed.  I let him have it with all I had in me.  And when I was done, I grabbed a broom and swept my parent's home from front to back and side to side.  When my mother dared say something snarky, I let her have it as well.    

I'd had ENOUGH and too much already, you see.  There were no more places left to stuff my anger and frustrations, much less all that worry in the six months of hell I'd just been through and was still going through.  Anger had finally shown me that I had boundaries, and they'd all been crossed too many times.

Anger also fueled me to make some hard changes.  I refused to accept some of the previously accepted (although unacceptable) behaviors directed toward me.  I began to fight back and to rale at the outrages that assailed me from every side.  I planted my feet and took a stand and didn't back down.  

I dropped t friends that told me I was wrong to leave my husband and relationships that I'd held dear for years were let go as well as I realized that nearly all of them were toxic.  Anger had stripped the blinders from my eyes.

That first dramatic fissure of anger was not the cure, however.  

Afterwards I felt ill, physically ill.  To be honest, I'd said some shameful things.  I'd reduced myself to the level of some of those individuals I'd been tolerating in my life.  And that made me angry, too.

I had to find a better way of coping with my anger than shoving it all behind a hidden door.  I had to learn to express anger in a way that allowed me to hold my dignity, honor my personal boundaries and use the anger to fuel the changes I needed to make.  Instincts are always to resort to the old behaviors, the ones I'd relied upon for too many years, the ones that hadn't worked but with which I'd been comfortable because it was familiar.  

Fast forward twenty or so years.  Menopause, a health scare that had nearly ended in death three times, and I found myself starting all over learning to deal with my anger.  Again, it looked like cutting relationships with people who, painfully, were family members.    It looked like taking time to dig deep and assess all the reasons I felt angry.  It meant having hard and scary conversations with my husband about behaviors that made me feel decreased in our relationship.  To his credit, he was horrified to realize that I had those feelings at all, and he quietly went about correcting his behavior.  I learned to speak frankly to my children when it was important that I be honest.   I learned that peace at any cost often exacts a far higher cost than venting rightly the anger that needed to be expressed.

I learned to be honest first and foremost with myself and to sort out my anger.  Were my feelings based on current events, or past ones that echoed through my head?  Were the people who triggered those feelings acting in the same ways that past figures had?    Sometimes it wasn't actually anger but grief disguised as anger.  Grief over life changes and circumstances, over my sense of helplessness or frustration in helping myself or another to cope with life issues and losses.  

To be honest, right now I'm going through some things, memories that seem to be intent on rising to the surface and making me focus on my past.  What I want at this stage of life is to never have to review painful past moments again, not even one more time.  And yet, many of those things have come up repeatedly until I realized I had to stop and look and examine why I was still angry, still grieving.  I'm angry over the intrusion of those things once again.  I'm angry that they still hurt.  I'm angry that they still cause grief.  I'm angry that I feel anger.  And that's the truth of it all.

I cannot tell you even now that I'm on top of anger when it occurs in my life.  I cannot tell you that it doesn't frighten me, though I've tried hard to understand and accept that it can and will occur.  I have tried to see it in a new light, and I've been learning how to best express it.  Often, I turn to writing first which has almost always been my greatest sorting out tool.  Once expressed on paper, then I can be surer that what I will express to another is free of vitriol and is a clearer expression of the root cause of my anger.

But the biggest lesson of all has been that anger is not so much a stop sign as a caution sign telling me to slow down in this place and discover why I should proceed with caution.  I have learned that anger is never meant to deter me from a course as much as to ensure that I remain on the right course for my life and healthy relationship with others.

later notes:  As I was looking for an illustration for this post, I stumbled upon a lot of memes advocating the repression of anger, the warning of anger being a destroying emotion.  It is my experience that repressed anger was the real destroyer.   We all have to discover our own truths.  For me, repressed anger was silently killing me.    It was an indicator gauge that I ignored and to my own detriment.  

You will not be punished for your anger.  You will be punished by your anger. ~ Buddha