Let the flame of anger free you from all falsity
(John O Donohue, To Bless the space between us)
In one of the books I am writing at the moment, I am about to talk about the feeling and emotions around Anger, it is already half written, it needs expanding, yet, as today I read the blessing and prayer above, it has caused me to realise the complexities of how I didnt deal with anger, or couldn’t.
I share, because I know I am not alone in this, not at all, I share because the damage we do when not dealing with anger in the right way can be horrific both for ourselves and the people we love around us, those who we transfer it to.
A few weeks ago I was talking to some friends of mine, with foster kids, they shared how the kids would rage and destroy things because they felt angry about what had happened to them, as they realised how they had been treated. We both agreed that this, was a good thing, for them, that pain is so raw it has to come out.
In the conversation, I said, that it took me 40 years to be in any position to process what had happened to me, and have any sense of anger about it.
I remember a friend react with anger as something my parents said to them, and I witnessed them be angry and punch the door, at the tender age of 15, I said, ‘theres just no point in being angry’ or words to that effect, because I had to delegitimise being angry for my own good, and I had shut this all down, because for me, to survive was to stay small and quiet. But someone else, my friend, in their home was safe to be angry.
I held on to it. I held it inside.
No emotion was safe, so all inside.
Playing sports got some of it out, and I pushed myself hard at this from 12-40 in different ways.
Talking to young people about Anger Management in my late 20’s was all about me hiding and pretending that by ‘being calm’ that was the way to deal with it all.
And even though I had probably realised that Anger wasn’t a sin (just something I had held inside) from better theology, I still couldn’t be angry, denying the self, meant staying emotionally small and invisible..and safe this way…
I did my best to add things on top of the inner pain. Keeping busy, being responsible, adding more things that were brain things, study, read, write, think, get consumed by sport, politics and the news, adding more on top of the real, layers upon layers. Burying the real.
I couldn’t be angry about the real thing, so I directed it to other things; politics and twitter, blogging, being harsh on my kids when they were v young, the dog, these got my anger at times, because they were ‘safe’ to receive it.
Was this a conscious thing at the time, not sure, but it was how I was trying to cope.
I couldnt be angry because I had a reputation of being soft, kind, patient, caring, loving… keep up the facade… and yet inside so much was hurting, raw, empty, and still in survival mode.
And, because a survival technique as a child was to ‘be there’ to soothe other peoples emotions, especially those who were also abusing me, I internalised that my emotions weren’t important, though other peoples were. Soothing other peoples angry was a safe place.
It was a matter of feeling like I had to be the strong one for others. I could be safe for others, whilst feeling false and dead inside.
Had to be good, Had to be helpful, had to be ‘christian’, had to be mild, had to be small, had to accept, had to be ‘grateful’, had to please others, had to…
I couldnt be angry because that would mean that me and my feelings had validity, and that wouldn’t have been safe or acceptable. So I denied the possibility, I denied myself.
I couldn’t be angry about what happened to me, because I had been given the suffocating rope of responsibility within this, so there was no one to be angry about it… except myself
So I internalised it, and gave in, caved in to comfort eating, self neglect, self criticism, being annoyed at myself, despair, self loathing and shame – yet trying to hold it all together….to keep face.
Even transferring it to others, in ways such as cynicism, passive aggression, sullen awful behaviour.. created a negative cycle of shame and further torment, and I was utterly miserable. In a pattern I could see no way out of, and felt responsible and condemned through it all. Shame cycles. Avoidance cycles. But I knew no different and had to be strong and safe for others.
Bottling it inside, sullen energy, masking, yet reacting to everything, a mess. A hurting, bruised, mess. When pricked, acted like the frightened hurting teenager, sullen, moody, that even as a teenager wasnt allowed to be.. lid on. Raging inside with no where to go.
All this took considerable energy, but survival and avoidance was the place of known comfort for decades.
I couldn’t be angry at was happening to me, because until I was 40 I didnt fully see it as abuse.
That’s the bewilderment of emotional abuse, especially by narcissists or the emotionally immature. (Check out a few resources here on this, they helped me see this for what it is, there’s also tons of this stuff on You tube, I like F Rieberson on it here)
I couldn’t be angry because I felt shame to feel angry. It felt wrong to be angry.
Anger wasn’t valid, because Anger meant facing reality, and facing reality was only going to be difficult, and at that time I had no where to feel safe to even start this process, and no one I thought would even know or understand what it all was.
I was running from the external monsters, like a frightened child, running from the reality I couldn’t and didnt want to face, and running from wanting to deal with all the feelings inside and how I had tried to deal with it.
Not being angry, was a falsity. I get it now.
Holding Anger in was a blockage, it meant I couldn’t feel anything else, not fully.
I was stone. Suppressed rage. Suppressed pain.
Lifeless.
Starting with realisations, self awareness and safety in many ways, I began to recognise what happened.. but it still took a while to deal with the anger. It was as if I had 40 odd years of it stored up and I was afraid of it, pretending it wasnt there, too self conscious to want to feel it.
When a friend 6 years ago told me to swear and use the F word, it took me almost 30 minutes to meekly say the word. I was so scared of that feeling, the shame of letting out the depth of feeling, i was so inhibited, so afraid.
Afraid of letting out a reality in myself… that I was angry, and it was valid, I was valid. Hiding truth had been a falsity, and I was protecting something that needed dealing with.
And I did.
Within the safety of both therapy and my own safe space of home, I wrote.
Red crayon, red pencil, anything, and felt every bit of rage inside come out by letting the crayon write deep, painful scribble and lines and anything.
Moment by moment, memory by memory, trigger by trigger.
It had to come out.
It had space to come out.
It was better out.
And yes tears, many…rage.. a lot… but all leaving…
I began to let some of what was held inside… go…
I wrote other writing, that will never see the light of day, but it had to just be given air to and let out
I started to feel the truth.
I became more able to stand up for myself and create boundaries in saying no, to them (and to others).
Anger made me realise I was important, and vice versa.
I had to finally recognise that what I had experienced wasn’t my fault.
I started to feel my heart burn
I started to feel… my heart at all
Pretend peace and suppression became slowly slowly something real.
Something real beyond.
Somewhere real beyond a place I was comfortable in for too long.
Somewhere I had to go.
How am I today?
Like I said in a previous piece, it’s so hard to describe.
There are moments when I feel angry, desire and hurt and pain…because thats one colour of my heart- red – and this is legitimate and beautiful!
There are moments when I feel peace, joy, wonder and curiosity – and thats a different colour too – orange or purple – equally beautiful too!
And much much more, but previously everything was grey.
Now life is colour, life is joy and my heart feels utterly alive and open.. and I love it! But God it’s taken work… but so so worth it.
I didnt want to get real about my stuff. It felt too big and I didnt feel worth it to do so.
And you may not want to either. You may not be able to. But my friend if you are reading this, know that there is nothing to be frightened of by feeling angry, it means there is something wrong and something needs to change….
To take the courage to realise that you are important and worthy to be angry and act.. for your own good.
What we get angry about is rarely the real thing, and is often expressed in places where it’s safe to, rather than directed at the situation that it needs to be.
It could be a whole other things beyond it, like grief, frustration, overwhelmed, injustice… Anger might be the cork..released to enable us to see other things..
What we can get angry about is how we’ve been treated and its time, time my friend to let that anger burn away the falsity, so that you, your truth and your being may emerge and be felt.
And so, as I write a book about the feelings of anger, I realise how my own anger ‘journey ‘ has been so so complicated, but writing it, and this today in a place of health and light.
Anger is real. Anger is so so real. I was trying not to feel it, but it was still real.
If you are suppressing it and damaging others….. time to face this too…
Anger… It may heal you, it may make you and take you to your truth.
May it free you from all falsity.
James Ballantyne 