Anger: The Explosive Truth
We describe anger in the language of destruction: an explosion, a fire, a blast. Something that obliterates and annihilates.
Something that can kill.
The words we use can tell us a lot about the qualities of an emotion. Not only how it looks and feels, but something about the dynamics involved. For example, we liken depression to feeling ‘blue’, the colour of infinite skies and deep, dark seas that reach as far as the eye can see. Depression feels endless, a place you can easily become lost in. A place where you can drown. Hence blue.
Or overthinking.
Sometimes I can do that. But it makes sense, right?
The reason we use destructive words for anger seems pretty obvious – anger can lead to aggression, and aggression often means violence. (Side note: anger and aggression often get confused or lumped in together, but they’re quite different. Anger is the emotion, aggression is the decision taken to act on that emotion. But that’s all a post for another day). However, I think there’s also a little clue in the language about what anger often serves to do for us. It blasts other emotions – often more painful, distressing ones – out of the way, so we don’t have to feel them.
Here’s how it works. Let’s say you’re on the motorway, and traffic’s flowing (I know this doesn’t happen in Auckland, but just roll with the fantasy for a sec). You’re cruising along, hitting 80-85 (okay, maybe 90). You’ve got half your attention on the list of tasks you’ve got to complete for the day, the other half on trying to find a radio station that’s not stuck on ads (I'm sure they all collaborate break times). Suddenly a car roars up next to you, hits the gas, and swings precariously into your lane. No indicator, half a second’s warning, and you swear your bumpers kissed. You gasp in shock. Your eyes widen as adrenaline courses through your body, leaving you reeling … and fuming with rage.
Who does that person think they are? How DARE they! What a jerk/prat/oxygen thief/cretin/spanner/[insert alternative insult of choice here].
At first glance, it’s simple. Something bad happened and you got mad, right? Easy. Except if you really think about it, there’s a lot of other things you could feel in addition to the anger (or perhaps did feel, before the anger took over). Here’s just a couple:
Guilt: “I wasn’t paying as much attention to the road as I should have been. If I had been keeping a proper eye on the cars around me and watching my speed, being cut off might not have come as such a shock. My own inattention contributed to that situation, even if the other guy was driving dangerously."
Fear: “If that had happened just slightly differently, I could have been in a serious accident. I might have died. I’d never get to see the people I love again. Worse, this can potentially happen every time I get in a car. Other people’s carelessness can harm me, or even end my life.
These thoughts are frightening and uncomfortable, and we don’t want to go there. It’s much easier to go to anger – it has energy, it feels righteous, it feels powerful. It burns away feelings of guilt, fear, inadequacy, hurt and betrayal.
But sometimes, we need to feel those things. Maybe not right away, but eventually – when we are strong enough. Stay at the ‘anger’ stage of grief forever, avoiding the agony of feeling the loss, and there will be no peace for you (or the people who love you). Use anger as a sanctuary from your doubts about your competency and worth, and you’ll create a cycle of pushing people away, which gives you even more evidence to fuel your fears. Looking under your anger gives you information you can use to learn and to grow – for example, in the ‘road rage’ scenario, you might decide to become more attentive and purposeful in your actions.
Uncontrolled, fire destroys. But used carefully it warms cold toes, sizzles sausages, and toasts marshmallows.
What's burning away underneath your anger - and can you use it to feed your growth?