Talking about anger

Last night in Sangha, one of our members was pretty upset about something she had done during the week. None of us was there at the time, so none of us knew what it was. She said there were other members of Sangha that she had hurt directly, but they—whoever they were—apparently chose not to show up last night. But she explained about other times that her anger and frustration had gotten away from her recently, and said that she was genuinely frightened of the possibility of becoming an angry, bitter, helpless old lady.

So we all talked about anger for a while. I volunteered that yes, having anger sneak up on you can be very frightening, and I talked about how I struggled with anger when I was younger. When I was a teenager and before—but even into my twenties—I would get angry with no warning, even to me. I wouldn't see it coming and then POW! Then the anger would dissipate just as fast, and I'd be left with the shame of the mess I'd made. That happened a lot, particularly (... oh for example ...) in the early years of my marriage to Wife, and it didn't get us off to a good start. (See here for some discussion of the lasting damage.)

Even into my thirties, I remember struggling with anger. I remember one evening in particular when I was musing on the Seven Deadly Sins (I must have been drinking) and I realized that the one I had the most trouble with was Anger. Many of the others (I told myself) I could take or leave; but even thinking about Anger sparked a resonant chord down deep in my viscera somewhere. 

I assume that must have been in my thirties. That's also the decade when the boys were born. Son 1 was born when I was 35, and Son 2 when I was almost 37. And when the boys were little, they coined a couple of phrases that wrenched my heart, but that they used as superlative expressions of (respectively) sadness or anger: "as sad as Mommy," and "as mad as Daddy." It was awful to hear. (I realize I have already told that story here and here. Sorry for the repetition.) 

That was more detail than I shared in Sangha. But one thing I did explain is that what helped me was becoming aware of my own reactions. To be sure, it didn't help all at once, or right away. There was a definite span of time during which I could watch myself get angry ... could see the words forming in my head to spit back at my antagonist (usually Wife) ... could look at the words quite dispassionately and tell myself "If you say that, you're going to regret it" ... but couldn't stop myself from saying them. And, sure enough, I always ended up regretting it. So I guess it was nice to know that my analysis was correct, even if I still dug myself into a hole. This part I did tell in Sangha.

And that's the part that ultimately got me out of this chronic situation. Because once I could see the change happening in me, once I could see myself from the outside and recognize that I was about to do something awful ... from that point it was only a matter of time before I was able to insert myself in my own way and stop myself from uttering the crushing retort. From that point ... slowly, oh so slowly, but steadily ... I was able to disengage myself from the situation, whereupon I just didn't get as angry any more. When, years later, I joined this Sangha and started studying the Buddhist dharma (including techniques for dealing with anger and other difficult emotions), what surprised me most is that I already knew so much of what they had to teach. I already knew it because I had rediscovered it all on my own through long and painful trial-and-error. The first time I ever took a "Seven Deadly Sins quiz" (see this post here) I was almost 47. Son 2 was already ten years old. And by then my score for Wrath (Anger) had decompressed down to Medium. It was huge progress. (The last time I took that test—you can find it here—was another ten years after the first time I took it. Well, nine-and-a-half. I was 56. By then, Wrath came in at Low. For whatever that's worth.)

Anyway, this is what I tried to tell the woman in Sangha. Of course I made no promises, Your mileage may vary, and all that. But I said that as long as she could see the change of mood as it happened to her—and she made it sound like she can—then I think there is grounds for hope. Because that's what made the difference for me. 

I hope she was able to extract some comfort from the idea.