Just a few weeks ago, I saw a man work metal over a fire. He said to watch the color of the metal as it sat in the flames, changing from black to red to orange to yellow, then white. White is the hottest, when metal becomes soft for shaping. Observing him work, my thoughts went to anger and its many shades, from annoyance, to displeasure, to hostility, to rage. My anger usually arises as a slow burn or a brief stabbing pain, rarely flaring to anything more. Instead of building to the point of rage, I cry, feeling profound disappointment that things have come to such a pass. The impulse to throw and break things, or to strike another person--I’ve never felt that. I’m slow to anger and quick to rid myself of it. After releasing anger, I don’t feel better; I’m exhausted, and remorseful if I’ve hurt someone in the process.

This is not to say I don’t get angry. I can work up a righteous anger to protect someone I love, any vulnerable person or creature, if they are harmed. I get angry when I see children or animals neglected or otherwise ill-treated, when someone is unfairly spoken about, when there is injustice. I have a strong guardian nature.

Misplaced loyalty in toxic personal and professional relationships left me gutted. After the tears came searing flashes of anger, anger that still surfaces unexpectedly, with less intensity as time passes, yet surprising for its tenacity. I’m wiser for the experiences, but forever leery of charming men and mean girls.

I experience all the lesser shades of anger, too. I get frustrated when computer passwords no longer work, when I make mistakes at my job, when I say the wrong thing, when I mess up while cooking. When upset as a consumer, I’ve honed my skills at advocacy. Inspired by Ralph Nader, I write emails to manufacturers of poorly-made products, to hotels and restaurants with terrible customer service, and to service technicians who don’t solve the problem but bill me anyway. I get results.

I’m not a willing fighter yet I’ve found myself in situations with people who fought with an emotional and sometimes physical ferocity that shocked me. When I refused to fight, grew quiet and retreated, their anger only increased. Any win for me was a pyrrhic victory; witnessing their anger took a tremendous toll. I’ve learned the hard way to step out of those rings I’d unwittingly placed myself in the past.

I get angry with my younger self. I’ve admonished her in ways that aren’t helpful or compassionate. I’ve made bad choices. I rue the roads not taken, the ill-considered decisions, the talents wasted, the dreams deferred or lost, the injustices suffered and not worth avenging. I get angry that I can’t turn back the clock and give it another try. What a useless line of thought, I know, which doesn’t honor the beauty in my life so far, the friendships, accomplishments, and more that wouldn’t have happened if I’d taken a different route. I’m not a time traveler, and I know that’s tricky anyway, not an assurance that a parallel life would have been a better one.

I’ve cried through my anger. My body has shaken with it. My anger has been so mixed up with fear after being the brunt of another’s anger that I’ve had to work long and hard to release it through EMDR therapy, the counsel of dear friends, and my husband’s love. During the lowest times, when emotions overwhelmed me, my husband compared me to a chrysalis. I was the metal in the flames, surrounded by white heat, turning into something else. Something better.

He was right. I’m in the best, most peaceful place I’ve ever been. I still have time to accomplish those dreams, if I’m fortunate. I can’t redo my earlier life, but I make steps every day, in my choices about who to spend time with and what projects to pursue or let go of, that enrich every moment. I’ve had far too much anger in my life. I know anger has its place, and I honor that. Anger can spark change. It certainly did for me.

REad Anger in Her Blood by Diane

Listen to the sisters in the Parlor