How to stop being angry

I have written before about chronic anger and its consequences. Our readiness to fight, both as individuals and as a country, has cost us dearly, both financially and in terms of personal unhappiness and loss.

In this brief note I would like to consider how and under what circumstances we might be willing to stop being chronically angry. We should also give some thought to the real-life consequences in our personal lives of simply stopping being angry as a response to every situation.

Anger is always a response to frustration. On the most primitive level it is a way of giving notice to our caretakers that something is wrong that we ourselves cannot correct. The hungry or wet baby demanding attention is the simplest example. We learn at the very earliest stages of our lives that rage can bring resolution, comfort and relief at the hands of something or someone outside ourselves.

That same mechanism endures through life. Exactly how we express our rage and frustration varies in its sophistication, but never departs from its basic nature: a demand that the external world arrange our relief or satisfaction. It is also an acknowledgement of our own experienced helplessness. We demand that others/the universe relieve our pain and grant our needs, and in the act we acknowledge that we ourselves are unable to provide that relief.

Sometimes the very expression of our frustration, intended to bring us relief, itself stands in the way of our getting what we want. Screaming at your mother when you are hungry works fairly well when you are one, but much less so at age 16. It is the expression, however, that requires modification; the underlying need remains the same as it always did.

I recall stubbing my toe on a rock as a child, and the anger I felt, which led me to first kick the rock, which hurt worse, and then to throw the rock as far as I could. My anger was at an uncaring universe which I could not control. My powerlessness increased my anger, and I reasserted my power by first kicking and then throwing the rock. I doubt if all of that prevented my toe from hurting, however.

We get angry when people and things don't do what we want. In the primitive parts of our brains we expect that anger itself to result in changes to meet our needs. Rarely does that work. But how do we drop the anger reaction and find more effective ways to get what we want? Sometimes the anger is at situations or people who no longer exist. In my work,  being angry at an abusive parent or ex-partner who no longer is alive is a distressingly frequent example. We cannot turn a dead abusive parent into a loving one.

One of the key elements in dealing with chronic anger is that it contains hidden at its core an element of hope. Anger is our earliest form of magic, and we never quite believe that it will simply not work. Hidden inside us we believe that the anger will cause the other person (or thing) to change, especially when we don't have a clue as to how to make it happen ourselves.

A friend once confessed to me that he was often (or chronically) angry at his girlfriend because she was unaffectionate and unromantic. However, when he expressed his frustration and anger things did not get better, but rather worse: she kept her distance and avoided his company for a while. On the one hand he understood that his anger and sulking did not make him more attractive or desirable. It certainly didn't spark any romantic feelings on her part. At the same time, he felt that not letting her know how he felt meant that she wouldn't know he wanted her to change. He felt helpless to get what he wanted. He recognized that her feelings about him were not in his control, and to some degree not even in hers. But the element of  hope he felt encouraged him to keep trying, in spite of its futility.

We know when someone important to us is showing anger or resentment toward us it is because they want something from us. It's easy to feel defensively angry in response. We can get caught in our helplessness. What's the alternative?

Sometimes we have to give up hope that we can get what we need. That's not an easy decision to make, but without it we cannot grieve for what we are missing or have lost and begin to move on. Our anger can be an avoidance of grief. Indeed anger is considered one of the early stages of grief, even though it is clear that it is a separate emotional response. We don't want to accept our loss.

But perhaps some losses should not be accepted. Accepting loss and grieving for what we don't have is not always a good answer. Grief involves a acceptance of an unchangeable circumstance, but passivity is not always useful. Sometimes we need to be assertive and even angry to fight for what we want, nor just accept the situation. America would still belong to the British Empire if we had not done so.

It's hard sometimes to accept that there are important things in our lives that we cannot change. It's hard to know which things should be fought for and which should be let go. This latter is a discrimination that can only be made cognitively, not emotionally. "Moving on" always requires grieving.

IMAGINARY DIALOGUES: WHY RELIGIOUS LEADERS NEVER MARRIED

It occurred to me recently that in at least two of the major religious groups in the world the founders of them were unmarried.  I wondered how their lives might have gone if they had had family responsibilities.  Siddhartha Gautama (the Buddha) was married briefly, but left his wife and children to become enlightened.  Jesus (as far as we know) was never married, although we don't know much about him from his early adolescence to age 30 other than his worker as carpenter when he  took teaching.  So the below is a set of imaginary dialogues.

Mrs. Gautama:   Sid, did you remember to take out the trash?
Siddhartha: No, sorry.  I was busy thinking.
Mrs. G:  You’re always busy thinking, but the trash won’t take itself out.
Siddhartha:   I know, I know.  You’re right.  (Gets up from under the bo tree and gets the trash)
Mrs. G:  And while you’re out there, see what the kids are doing.
Siddhartha: OK, OK. (leaves and returns)
Mrs. G:  When are you going with me to the market?  I can’t carry all the food myself.
Siddhartha:  Whenever you want.
Mrs. G:  “Want?”  I don’t “want” to go, but we all want to eat.  Not that we can buy much with the money people give you.
Siddhartha:  I’m a teacher, I take what they give me.
Mrs. G:   You need to be more assertive, Sid.  It’s all very well for you to be so… so peaceful and all, but we have to live on what you make.
Siddhartha:  Maybe you should try just.. letting things go more.  Peaceful is a good thing.
Mrs. G:  It's a good thing for YOU.  "Peaceful" don't feed the kids or do the laundry.
Siddhartha:  What do you want me to do, for God’s sake?
Mrs. G:  Like I get a vote.  You’re the man, make a damn decision.
Siddhartha:  I made a decision.  You just don't like it.  (goes out and slams the door)

Jesus: I’ve got to go, honey.  The guys are waiting for me.
Mrs. Jesus:  That’s right, leave me with the kids to manage.  Just go on.  Be with your buddies.
Jesus:  It’s what I have to do.
Mrs. Jesus:  Don’t give me that crap.  You do what you want to do, you always do.  I get tired being stuck in this house with the kids, you know.  You get to get away with your buddies.  I don’t see what’s so important about hanging out.
J:  God wants me to do this.
Mrs. Jesus: So you say.  He never told me.  I got your word that God talks to you.  When’s he gonna tell you that you need to be a mensch and take care of your family?
J:  My family is the whole world.
Mrs. Jesus:  Bullshit.  THIS is your family.  The rest is just a bunch of people who like to sit around with you and talk politics and religion.  They wouldn’t know the real world if it bit them in the ass.
J:  (comes back in the house).  You’re right.  Sometimes I lose perspective.  I tell the people to give to Caesar the things that belong to Caesar, sometimes I forget that some things belong to the world and some to the family.
Mrs. J:  Damn straight.  (turns, opens the door to another room, looks in) Junior, you stop teasing your little sister!  How many times I got to tell you?
J:  You listen to your mother!  God wants you to be nice and love everybody.
Junior:  I gotta love my yucky sister?  Not gonna happen, Dad.
Maybelline:  Daddy, make him stop!  (she cries loudly)
Mrs. Jesus:  I swear, I don’t know what to do.  You handle this.  I’m fed up.
J:  (Sits down next to the children).   I’m gonna tell you a story, OK?
Junior:  A good story?
J:  Sure.  It’s about a Good Samaritan.
Junior:  Has it got any talking animals or crooks and people with weapons?
J:  No, no, it’s about a man from another country who’s a good guy.
Maybelline:  I don’t want to hear a story like that.  They’re BORING!
Junior:  It’s OK, dad, I’ll just go work in the shop.
Mrs. Jesus:  Jesus, don’t you let him go out there with all those tools!
J:  Stay in here, Junior.
Mrs. Jesus:  (to Jesus) And when are you going to make some furniture to sell?  We can’t live much longer on what people give you.  You got a trade, you’re a good carpenter.  So make something, for God’s sake, and maybe I could sell it in the market and we get something good to eat!  Jesus, I’m tired of pottage and gruel
J:  OK, OK, just lay off me.  I got things to think about.
Mrs. Jesus:  Think all you want.  Just get off your butt and do something!