Ten-Finger Exercises

Anger—what’s at the root of it?

Why did it make me angry to be told I needed to call home? That happened last week when Bill dropped me off for a meeting at church. I'm sure I told him I could get a ride home, and that I'd call if I needed a ride. He's sure I didn't say any such thing, and he was out there waiting for me twenty minutes after the meeting ended because I was talking to people. Now, the fact that he'd been out there for an hour, having misread the time the meeting was to end, and having forgotten his book-- those were his problems.

Why do we get angry, especially when it isn't the reasonable response? That’s a question Mavis Moog brought to mind in her blog, and I think I’ll pursue it.

I grew up in a family that didn’t show anger often, and didn’t act it out in any ways that I can think of. Mother’s brow would furrow, and she’d talk louder and faster as she hunted for the yardstick to paddle me. Daddy would become solemn, but not withdrawn, and would declare to me that my behavior was out of line and must stop. It was a decree not to be quibbled with. On the other hand, I’d argue with Mother every chance I had. It wore her down.

As an adult, I didn’t recognize my own anger in any ways other than the two patterns my parents had. I didn’t think I got angry very often, except at the kids, and I was embarrassed and ashamed at how often that happened. I wanted to be more like my dad than my mother, but I couldn’t get the solemn decree thing to work for me.

I was forty before I figure out that my main anger response, in a situation where I wasn’t the parent, was to cry. Lo and behold, crying didn’t mean sadness! That was amazing. Sometimes it meant I was frustrated, but more often it was when I felt attacked. That seemed to come up often. I was defensive about so many things.

The other circumstance that makes me cry is when I’m wrong and can’t do anything to change it. Mad at myself. Like when I backed into the telephone pole. I didn’t want to accept the idea that I could be so careless; and yet, if I hadn’t had a hunch that that was true, I probably wouldn’t have felt so defensive.

So, fair or unfair, I hate not to live up to some people’s expectations, and particularly my own.