Anger: Heaven and Hell
As I emerged from a childhood depression, my first strong emotion was anger.
I remember listening to Jimi Hendrix, loud, a foot away from the speakers so that the music rocked my entire body, feeling almost grateful for the Vietnam War because it gave me something to focus my anger on. Anger was energy, and at that time it may even have been life-saving, though looking back, I see that it was also imprisoning.
That is the nature of anger. Anger is difficult.
Many of us act out anger to “make the other person feel the way I do.” But even if we accomplish that goal, instead of the understanding we crave, a mutually damaging struggle usually ensues.
Reenacting anger is portrayed as an alternative. In the movie Analyze This, Billy Crystal plays a psychiatrist who tells Robert De Niro, his mobster patient, to “just hit the pillow” when he’s angry. De Niro pulls out his pistol and fires several rounds into the pillow on Crystal’s office chair. Crystal pauses, smiles uneasily, then asks, “Feel better?” De Niro shrugs. “Yeah, I do,” he says. Hitting the pillow is preferable to hitting a person. But although letting off steam can help us feel better momentarily, it can also amplify anger and create further barriers to its resolution.
Suppression — holding anger in, “biting your tongue,” “sucking it up” — also has its costs. Anger turned inward leads to depression, builds walls between people, promotes passive aggression, or explosively surfaces elsewhere.
So what can we do with our anger?
We can, as Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh suggests, relate to it as if it were a baby in distress, crying for help. Once I asked an eight-year-old boy who was often murderously enraged at his mother how he would treat this anger if it were a baby crying. “I’d pick it up and see if it wanted to be held.” And if it kept crying? “I’d try giving it a bottle.” And if that didn’t work? “I’d see if it had a poopy diaper.” To deal with our anger, we need to find out if it wants to be held, fed, or has a poopy diaper. Then we can give it the attention it requires. Only then can we safely bring our grievances to those with whom we are angry.
In my therapy practice, I use a technique developed by couples counselor Harville Hendrix to help people with the crying babies of their anger. At the beginning of a couples or parent/child session, I explain that here, they can each fully express their anger, but instead of going back and forth, arguing as they usually do, they’ll take turns: One person will speak while the other listens actively, and then they will reverse roles.
I ask the first listener to be ready to hear what the first speaker says without reacting, withdrawing, or defending, even when something feels hurtful or sounds “wrong.” Then we begin. The first speaker tells his or her story and the listener mirrors it, one chunk at a time, to make sure he or she “got” it. This process continues until all the important parts of the story have been heard, mirrored, and understood. Then, the listener summarizes it all, making a kind of intellectual sense of it: “So, now that I hear how you experienced what I did/said, I can understand why you’re angry.” Often, the listener also empathizes: “In your shoes, I’d be angry, too.” Sometimes an apology ensues: “I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to. I don’t want to cause you pain.”
Tears may flow. Something has shifted.
After the speaker has been heard, understood, and empathized with, listener and speaker change roles. The process ends when each party has spoken and has also been heard. At that point, reconciliation often begins. Over time, this speaking/hearing process can create a durable container to hold the sometimes violent feelings that occur between people. Similar techniques have been used successfully in areas of great historical conflict such as the Middle East, Latin America, and Ireland.
Anger can feel empowering, but only its resolution is a liberation. Author Ken Feit illustrates the difference: “Once a samurai warrior went to a monastery and asked a monk, ‘Can you tell me about heaven and hell?’ The monk answered, ‘I cannot tell you about heaven and hell. You are much too stupid.’ The warrior’s face became contorted with rage. ‘Besides that,’ continued the monk, ‘you are very ugly.’ The warrior gave a scream and raised his sword to strike the monk. ‘That,’ said the monk unflinchingly, ‘is hell.’ The samurai slowly lowered his sword and bowed his head. ‘And that,’ said the monk, ‘is heaven.’”
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Action: Sometimes Insight is the Last Defense
Acceptance: It’s all part of it, man.
From Paths to Wholeness: Fifty-Two Flower Mandalas
Copyright 2017, David J. Bookbinder
