Dear Anger,
I hardly know where to begin. I know where to end, though, and the end of this is that I’m breaking up with you. This relationship that we’ve had has been destructive and manipulative, and while on the one hand I’m not sure what I’ll do without you, on the other, I just can’t live with you anymore.
I don’t know how to extricate you from my heart, because I’m not really sure how you got in there in the first place. I think you came in the form of pain. And grief. Or rather, you piggybacked on those things and when my heart was broken open and they flooded in, you were there, too. You stayed there, made a home there, dormant most of the time. Almost all of the time. You quietly filled in those cracks in my heart, the ones left by the same things that caused the pain and the grief. You took up the position of captain of the guard then. You made it your mission to protect my heart.
Perhaps you saw what was left behind in the aftermath of pain and grief; like a coast erased by a tsunami, or a mountainside shredded by an avalanche. Maybe you thought you were helping me, shielding me. So, like a fever raging against a virus, you turned up the heat whenever pain and grief showed their ugly faces. What you didn’t know is that you weren’t actually successful at keeping them away from me. Like water in sand, they just filled in around you, around everything, and then all of you were there, swimming around in my heart, swirling around together, muddled and knotted, indistinguishable from each other.
When I felt pain and others saw anger, it turned me, the actual me, invisible. They called me “prickly” and “spiteful”. They said I was hostile. They couldn’t get near the pain because you were too hot. You were too overwhelming. You meant to keep pain and grief away, but what you did instead was keep dear ones away. And for some, it was too much. For some, they will never get close again. For blessed few others, they see through you. I was not washed away by you. I was not Hostile. I was not Spiteful. I was Me. For some, the times when you lay dormant, the times when you did not cloud my eyes and grip my heart, those times were the real times. Those times were the Me times.
It took me a long, long time to look you in the face. I think that is partly due to the fact that you are a master of disguise. When I tried looking before, you were Standing Up For Myself. You were Righteous Indignation. You were Stress. You were Sleep Deprivation. You were Justifiable. Now I see that you were piggybacking on those things, too. Those things are real, and you…you are also very real. But you are like a parasite. You can’t survive on your own. You have to cling to something else, because on your own, you serve no purpose. On your own, you are only harmful.
What will I do without you to protect me? The thought of leaving you behind makes me feel profoundly vulnerable. Like a skinned knee without a bandaid. Like a broken arm without a cast.
You do serve a purpose. I know, I know I said the opposite a minute ago. I’m learning as I go here. You serve a purpose, that of a teacher. You were never meant to stay, though. You were never meant to settle in. As a teacher, you can enlighten. You can shine a spotlight on things that are not right. You can warn of danger, you can point out weaknesses that need fortification. You can burn away deadwood. But you can also catch everything else on fire. You can linger, and when you linger, you infect.
When there is hurting, agony of spirit, when someone has wronged me, they cannot hear me for the noise you make. They cannot see the injury, only the sword in your hand. So the wounds go untended, and I am left alone. Abandoned. Just a few are strong enough to take your heat, to move forward and come to my aid despite the pain it causes them to do so. You’ve erased me from the minds and hearts of the others; they see only Spiteful. Only Hostile. It may take some time yet for them to remember that there is still Me. Me, who loves to make others feel happy. Who cries over the sorrow of others. Who finds the utmost fulfillment in lifting and praising and serving and loving. Who talks to bugs and flowers because no one should be ignored. Who seeks out beauty and simplicity, who aches to show kindness because she knows that there is little she can do for this world except pour kindness into it.
I don’t know what my defense will be anymore. When words come flying and understanding is dried up, how will I protect myself? When suffering is unintentionally but absolutely caused, how will I be heard? How will they know? And what about when it is intentionally caused? What will shield me from the humiliation of being wrong and the agony of being right?
I’m not entirely sure, but I have a few ideas. There is One who promised to take on all of our pain, all of our suffering, all of our mistakes, all of our fears. I will learn better how to lean on Him. I will practice Trust. I will probably spend a lot of time at home and in nature, safe places where I can practice letting you flow. Where I can heal from your burns.
You aren’t forbidden from my heart, Anger. As I said, you can teach in a way that nothing else can. I need the lessons you yearn to teach. But you are not allowed to stay. You cannot puddle into a stagnant pool of rage and animosity and ire and offense. Shine your light, old friend, and be gone.
Like pain and grief, I wonder if your face isn’t quite as ugly as I thought. Perhaps, like pain and grief, you are a shadow of something beautiful. Like a shadow, you can add definition and depth to my heart. And, like a shadow, you must submit to the Light. I will not be your host anymore. It will take time for me to find all of your belongings and toss them out; the eviction is posted but the smell of you will linger, I’m sure. That musty, smokey smell. I’ll open the window and air things out. I’ll hide away and heal, and slowly test out standing on my own two legs without you to prop me up in the hard times. You are a crutch I must do without. On your way now. You are hereby relieved of guard duty.
All my love,
Hannah
As someone who has unconsciously used rage to protect a broken heart, I relate to and honour your reflections, and your declaration.
There is so much wisdom in your words. I love that you speak to your learning as you go, as we all are. There need be no shame is this process.
So often, if not always, what sits beneath anger is fear, and beneath fear, hurt; be it grief, shame or any of the things that wound our hearts.
It takes deep courage to see past someones anger to what is underneath, and even greater courage to risk reaching out, through and beyond the rageful layer, to where the hurt is. It’s a special kind of Grace, being reached towards in this way. It’s a Grace that’s been bestowed on me by my beloved, and in time it has given me the courage to do the same to others, even when there are parts of me terrified at the risk of rejection, or attack.
You are a beautiful soul, Hannah. A soul “who loves to make others feel happy. Who cries over the sorrow of others. Who finds the utmost fulfillment in lifting and praising and serving and loving. Who talks to bugs and flowers because no one should be ignored. Who seeks out beauty and simplicity, who aches to show kindness because she knows that there is little she can do for this world except pour kindness into it.” This part had me in tears…
I send my love to you, and your anger, as you untangle yourselves from one another.
Am letting this sink in a minute. I like that grief and pain are acknowledged, timidly hiding. I am finding awareness of those two companions of late, and too, find anger speaking for them.
I am looking for the friend, restoration, who is also friends with grief and pain. Bless you on your journey.