One of the projects I'm working on right now is about the expression and suppression of anger. This is a modified, edited exerpt from my anger journal. I thought I'd share it after a conversation with my friend Heather revealed that I'm not alone in these feelings.
***
I threw my cat out this morning. He was going to wake my kid, and the idea of that threw me into an angry, panicked frenzy.
Liam has been having trouble sleeping lately, and I don’t know what’s the matter. It could be nightmares, or just dreams in general. He’s only 2, so it’s hard to get reliable, descriptive, accurate information about anything. He wakes up crying several times a night and wants to be rocked back to sleep again. It feels like a stalling technique. What’s going on? He loves his bed. He loves his room. He goes to sleep without a fuss. So what wakes him up crying at all hours of the night?
Last night he slept until 3:30am when he woke up crying. Scott went in briefly and came back out. Liam cried again immediately, so Scott went back in and back out. Liam was quiet for almost an hour. Did he even go back to sleep? Did he sleep for an hour and then wake back up? Whatever, he’s crying again. My turn.
I went in. He asked to be rocked and I told him no, it was time to go back to sleep. He put his head down on the pillow, crying, and asked for my hand on the bed for him to hold. I complied, and told him I was going to lay down by his bed for a few minutes, and then Mommy was going back to her bed to sleep, too. Ok.
I laid there for half an hour on the floor by his bed, my neck cricked from lying on that stupid giraffe pillow. He tossed and turned, occasionally popping up to see if I was still there. Once or twice I whispered for him to go back to sleep. I forced myself to keep my breathing deep and quiet, but he just wouldn’t go to sleep.
My neck hurt. My back hurt. My hip hurt. I was fucking tired. Finally, after half an hour, I got up to sneak out quietly. He must have heard me, or just looked for me because he sat up crying immediately. Fuck! I was patient with him, and despite my fatigue I was able to control myself. I made him lay back down (crying) while I explained to him that it was time for Mommy to go to sleep and for Liam, too. I turned his music on and left. He cried for half a fucking hour.
By this time, it’s 5:30 in the fucking morning. I am fucking tired. I am angry because I have, like, an hour left to sleep before I have to get up and do shit. Like make breakfast and get me and the boy cleaned and dressed for the day and wash dishes and feed the fucking cat. Fuck.
This time I couldn’t control myself. I marched into his room and told him to stop crying and go to sleep. He started crying harder, with the little hiccupy things happening. Goddammit. I picked him up and he curled up on my chest like a newborn and stopped his crying immediately. I melted a little at how sweet he was, clinging to me like the little monkey he is. Unfortunately, my love for my child did nothing to cut through the exhausted frustration that was building inside. I was sitting in the rocking chair with him, holding him and waiting for his cry hiccups to fade away. I told him again that we have to go to sleep. I restarted his music. I laid him in his bed and he snuggled down onto his belly. I tucked him in and left. No sound except the Celtic lullaby CD.
I went back to sleep for an hour.
When the alarm woke me up, I dragged my headachy ass out of bed and started the coffee. Fed Mojo. Who has been a ROYAL turd lately, meowing loudly in the mornings and pissing me off. He’s gotten quite mouthy in the mornings. Demanding food immediately as I wake up and demanding to be let out of the house immediately upon finishing his turkey and rice flavored cat food. And I mean, like, strange, otherworldly meows. RoWOWER! MOWWA! RrrrROWW.
So this morning after starting the coffee and feeding the cat, I went to the bathroom. So I’m taking a shit, minding my own business, not bothering anyone, when all of a sudden, those freakish, loud meows start reverberating all over the house. FUCKER! I finished wiping, cursing him silently and plotting his violent death.
When Mojo saw me running quickly and silently from the bathroom down the hall, he didn’t know exactly why I was so furious, but he saw fast that his morning was about to turn very ugly. He skittered under the kitchen table, muttering and chirping at me to please have mercy. I felt I showed marvelous restraint when I caught up to him and popped his ass 3 times with my open hand, snarling at him, “Shut the fuck UP Mojo! Just shut up.” Where the fuck is the squirt bottle of water anyway?
It was of course at this moment, while I searched for the evil squirt bottle of death water (Mojo HATES being squirted with water) and Mojo used my distraction to slip away and hide behind the coffee table, that I realized that the cat didn’t understand why I didn’t want him to meow in the mornings. My rage was completely incomprehensible to him, it was random violence from a much larger animal, and one who is trusted as a companion by him. How strange and frightening a creature I must be to him, this tiny predator who sleeps at my house and eats food from my hands.
A loud, gimpy MowWOWAH pierced my reverie. FUCK! GODDAMN CAT!! Where did he go? Are you fucking kidding me, he ran back to the bedroom and began meowing right outside Liam’s door! I ran silently down the hall and found him where he cowered from me, under my dresser. I dragged him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him up under my arm. “You want to go out? Fine. Fucking FINE. Get the fuck out of here and shut the fuck up!” With that eloquent speech to an animal that doesn’t speak English, I tossed him out under the carport and slammed the door (QUIETLY!) behind him.
I went and poured a cup of coffee, feeling victorious, angry, confused, relieved, and guilty.
***
I am able to control my anger for a long time. I have lots of patience, and I am able to empathize with others and see other perspectives. This helps me remain peaceful for a long time in stressful situations. However, when I run out of energy, the end in my patience is abrupt. This can be frightening for the people and animals who are around me when I finally snap. It seems to come out of nowhere, when in fact, it’s been building and building for quite a while. I’m not in denial or anything. I acknowledge these feelings, but I put them aside to deal with them later, when I can sort through them without the danger of getting lost in the emotions of the moment.
This is a system that generally works for me. It breaks down when the stresses and pressures on me feel relentless, and I’m unable to find some time to escape and regroup and sort through all that’s happened to make me feel this way. When I’m caught out in the open, so to speak, the tears come. Also the screaming. It seems like so much because I’ve been saving it up for a while. It’s like a dam bursting inside me, and what comes out isn’t just a trickle of what’s happening NOW, it’s a flood of feelings from this morning, yesterday, last week, month, year.
Mojo and I hugged it out, and Liam and I are working on a good night's sleep.
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Ohhh...Patience is such a difficult thing to master! I know people often stop me in awe of my 5 kids and tell me how they would rather hang themselves than to have that many. I am asked how I have the patience to do it. To me it is kind of a dumb question, since I don't really have a choice. Killing them is out of the question, the hospital won't take returns, and quite frankly I love them to pieces and can't imagine life without them all. So it is sink or swim time when I feel the stress building in me like a pressure cooker full of yesterday's pot roast. As a Christian I have been told NOT to pray for patience because God will give you more situations in which you need to exercise patience, (which sounds more like a curse to me). But recently I studied the concept of patience and it makes much more sense to me now and is not to be avoided at ALL! I asked myself, "What would it be like if I refused to allow the behavior of others to spoil my day?"
ReplyDeleteFirst of all, patience is a fruit of the spirit (Gal 5:22). It is not something I have to supply and maintain by myself, whew! That is a relief, because I, like you have times of great self control and then can flip a switch in 2.2 seconds to a screaming out of control mess.
I learned that when the word patience is used in Scripture it is translated in two different Greek forms, makrothumia and humpomone. When the word humpomone is used it means "to perservere, remain under...bearing up under....refers to that quality which does not allow one to surrender to circumstances or succumb under trial." It speaks of having endurance in relation to things or circumstances. (For the Christian we have a hope in Christ that whatever situation we are in will end, and will end in His Glory...that helps us endure and have patience in any circumstance with His supernatural supply, of course.) Hupomone is always inspired by hope.
(cont.)
The second Greek word used for patience is makrothumia and it means "to be long suffering, forbearance, self restraint before proceeding into action. It is the quality of a person who is able to avenge themselves yet refrains from doing so." When makrothumia is used it is in the context pertaining to people (vs. hopomone which is relating to circumstance). As hope motivates hopomone, mercy drives makrothumia! We have patience with the people in our life by showing them mercy, even when they do not deserve it or when we are justified in not showing it. This caused a radical shift on my thinking of this subject. I do not want my children to view me as an unmerciful mother! I do not want to loose hope and give up on something I am trying to accomplish. I understand that mercy for others allows me to be patient and perservering requires patience when I cannot see the end in sight.
ReplyDeleteFor me, I also understand that patience is released as a fruit of the spirit and is a supernatural side effect of a relationship with the Holy Spirit. I believe that the Bible holds so much truth that we all can learn from, even if you don't believe Noah really did build an ark.
Love you,
Shelli-bean