Anger is a choice
Being a know-nothing, twenty-something man with the then-current girlfriend, life was pretty simple. We each finished school, had good jobs, two great circles of friends and lived in our separate apartments. We had the makings of a great sitcom. There’s just one thing: she seemed always angry. I couldn’t understand why. I was constantly walking on egg shells trying not to offend her. I was thoughtful and tried to be inclusive for things that clearly don’t even involve her, but she started to dictate when I could or couldn’t see my buddies. Yet I was always conscientious and never showed up empty handed when visiting her parents. But no matter what I did, there was always a comment about how I did it and especially when I didn’t. Most of it came across as jokes and sarcasm which I took in strides and eventually ignored. And when things got tense, everything became my fault. Occasionally, I would ingratiate myself to her for sexual reasons. Over time, it became too much effort to get the infrequent roll in the sack which wasn’t that great, anyway. One time, she even threw a TV remote against the wall because I asked for oral sex. The remote control shattered into a hundred pieces and I decided right there that the relationship should follow. No amount of sex was worth this. It was too exhausting and the fun has been sucked out of everything. After a tortuous one year, I ended it. I told her that I wanted to see someone else. To my surprise, she didn’t get angry. But then again, it didn’t matter anymore. It wasn’t me.
I went through a number of these relationships but the level of conflict was never as intense. It’s probably because I had far less tolerance or knew very quickly it wouldn’t work. I wasn’t sure why they were angry with me. I have disagreements with family members, too, but no one’s been written off. My male friends are close and those who aren’t simply drift away without any drama. As for my work relationships? All positive. So it can’t be me. But fast forward a couple of decades and I still feel I have not had much success in relationships with women. I leave a wake of ex-girlfriends and my marriage ended with contentious discourse that still simmers 7 years after the divorce. Is it me? Nah!
On one Father’s Day, my ex actually refused to allow our daughter to see me. It didn’t matter what her reasons were but this was forever etched into mine and my daughter’s mind as a petty and bitter attempt to wrestle power and authority. “Daddy, are you going to let mom do this? I want to see you,” my daughter cried on the phone. I comforted her anguished protests with, “Honey, I know you love daddy and you make me feel like it’s Father’s Day every day.” We had a belated celebration. The little time we had lost was incomparable to what my ex had lost that day. So it’s definitely not me!
I’m no shrink, nor am I a child psychologist. But I do know that anger is never a primary emotion. It is a secondary one that springs from a place of being unloved.
At my father’s drinking club, I am also told of strife that happens from other men. The expressions men use like ‘needing to check with mission control’ or ‘obtain clearance for take-off’ or ‘consult the master calendar’ speaks of a one-sided, almost subservient position that men have accepted with respect to the partnership in their marriage. In most narratives I’ve heard, mommies tend to be angrier than daddies. It’s not the guys because they are not like this when we are together, but something happens when they return home. Along with taking off their shoes at the door, they have proverbially put their testicles in a box by that same door. It definitely can’t be them!
I’m no shrink, nor am I a child psychologist. But I do know that anger is never a primary emotion. It is a secondary one that springs from a place of being unloved. Devalued. Rejected. Powerlessness. In short, anger comes from a place of pain—and it was inflicted long before I showed up. I too have a repressed dark side. In a case my daughter won’t forget, one day, she was washing out the French press and started to flick the water out of the vessel. She didn’t know that the handle was separate from the carafe and it flew out and smashed onto the floor. It triggered a deeply buried childhood memory in me when my dad struck me for dropping a hot lid from the stove. In my case, I still vividly recall being slapped and labeled irresponsible. In turn, I berated my daughter and asked if she had a brain and whether it was turned on. Quite simply, it was a hand-me-down neurosis and had nothing to do with my daughter in the first place.
Taking deep breaths or a long walks is like taking the lid off a boiling pot, but it does nothing to the underlying heat. The source needs to be dealt with—extinguished if possible. Having the benefit of hindsight, I should have asked the ex’es to acknowledge their problems. But I was too inexperienced and my hormone levels for sex was too high to ask them to reflect on their childhood neurosis. Truth be told, I didn’t know how long they would hold my interest in order for me to make this kind of emotional investment. I was pretty self-centered back then. But one thing I do know for sure is the trigger to my own anger. I identify them and I keep people away from them with brightly advertised warnings. My fury for the most part, is contained in a furnace whose heat I have learnt to harness. That is the only thing I will take control over. I am not in charge of other people’s emotions or their expressions. Their outbursts are not my choices and therefore not my responsibility. It is definitely not me.
