Escaping the Trap of Anger

I feel I’ve transformed much over the past few decades. I’ve had more than a few significant life events that have helped that process along. And thankfully, supportive people along the way to help shape me into who I wanted to be. Most importantly, I was in the driver seat and decided how all these inputs were to be processed, and what the final outcome would look like. I wasn’t always in the driver’s seat, though.

Flash back to me at the tender age of 16. I was mad at everyone. Angry at the world. I remember emotion as a scarce commodity in my nuclear family of four. I learned how to be stoic, with the only emotion allowed to be displayed being anger. I justified this as acceptable because I was half Arab (not stereotypically known for their warmth and lovey-dovy qualities) and half German (emotion is not efficient, and really serves no purpose in accomplishing things like weeding the petunias).

All throughout elementary and high schools, I was the nerd that never fit in, which led to merciless bullying, and a severe lack of sense of belonging as I tried to keep my freak flag from being ground into pulp, let alone allowing it to fly. On top of that, my parents fought and yelled constantly, the culmination of a loveless marriage that was imminently at an end. So yeah, I was mad. Because that’s the only way I knew how to express my sadness, lack of control, frustration, and response to all the negativity. I thought I was mad at the world. Little did I know at the time that I was just mad at myself.

I vividly remember when I worked at Six Flags Great America (one of the happiest places on earth), I would go to work emanating anger. I didn’t want anyone to talk to me, so I bristled. I never said a rude word, threatened anyone, or did stereotypically angry things. I just…oozed anger. It worked. People left me alone, children cried when the saw me, balloons even wafted out of my way, and I was able to semi-stoically deal with people in a visible shell of seething anger. This was, of course, not healthy.

As people sometimes do, I met a girl. She seemed to like me…a lot. I warned her in very specific, clear terms that I was an angry person, and it wasn’t something I was going to change immediately. And so we entered into our 24-year long congress. She softened me. She showed me, most importantly, the entire range of emotions that people are able to display. And while I remained angry due to not knowing how to deal with it, I wasn’t JUST angry. In fact, I was angry quite a bit less, and happy, sad, excited a lot more. I was determined to not repeat the emotional patterns of my parents and strived to embrace all the emotion I could. I was taking the first steps in becoming vulnerable, and allowing myself to be hurt. For feeling all emotion means just that: all the highs and lows. I had previously been operating so that if I was a pessimist, I’d never get hurt and anything, no matter how remotely positive, would serve as happiness and joy. While a a perfectly logical and valid model, it does leave something to be desired in the area of experiencing joy on a regular basis.

I learned, very slowly, that anger is usually a byproduct of something else. At this point I must bring up a quote by Master Yoda: “Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” It’s so true, and it took so long for me to understand. For me, anger was the manifestation of many negative inputs.

Fear: When I was 16, I was scared my parents would divorce. I didn’t want that, even though they’d been fighting bitterly for almost a decade. I was scared to become a statistic or the product of a broken home. I was also scared of my school peers. Like, legitimately scared they’d beat the snot out of me (which they did). Later in life, I was scared my marriage wouldn’t work out, despite the immense effort we both put into it. Scared that my efforts wouldn’t go recognized. Scared I’d mess something up. I became paranoid.

Helplessness: I felt helpless at all the things listed above: I couldn’t keep my parents together, and my solicited advice wasn’t helping. I felt helpless getting beat up. Helpless to maintain my identity which was different and therefore unacceptable than everyone else’s. Later in life, I felt helpless that my efforts in keeping my marriage together seemed unappreciated, unnoticed and never acceptable. On top of that, my two infant sons died, and I could do nothing to prevent that, despite trying. My paranoia turned into perfectionism. Yoda was right. Fear and helplessness indeed had led to anger. And anger indeed led to hate. Because I hated…everyone. The whole world was out to get me, including my wife. Hate inevitably led to suffering, because I suffered greatly. My inner child suffered and never ever came out to play. My creativity suffered and thus also problem-solving. My job was a joyless task. My few friends suffered having to listen to my negativity. My soul suffered and was resigned to dying slowly. My children suffered because I could not be the person I wanted to be. But I persisted. And I still worked. I never ever stopped working.

During my marriage of 24 years, I learned many, many things. All valuable tools that I honed and practiced using. Some worked, and some didn’t. The important thing was, I was assembling a really nice toolkit of sharp, powerful tools.

I had learned from one of my ex-wife’s cousins about acceptance, and the power of a kind ear. She listened, without judgment, about all the woes in my marriage and life in general. She was a true friend in a world where everyone was out to get me. We both enjoyed mentally and verbally wrestling with grand questions about life. She helped me stay on an even keel and maintain my sanity when I felt like giving up. I credit her with my resilience.

I had learned from my ex-wife’s uncle, who himself was a terribly angry man who had transformed into a paramount of relaxed peace by the time I finally got to know him, not to sweat the small stuff. He showed me how to not let everything bother me, concentrating on what is important. And when something is important or wrong, it’s okay to get angry. Anger should be used as a tool, not just a facade. Pick your battles.

I learned from his wife about unconditional love. She was nice to everyone. Even me, which flabbergasted my angry 18-year-old self. I learned to replace anger and hate with acceptance and love. Why? Because being angry all the time wasn’t as productive and efficient as I first thought, and I discovered I liked laughing and feeling happy more than I liked being in my bristling anger-shell. Also, when I’m happy, the positive people I’ve chosen to be around me are happy as well. When we all get happy, it’s like a happy spiral. The opposite is true as well. When I’m around angry people, they become angry, and then no one is happy.

I went to a ManKind Project Weekend, and I learned how to actually access my emotions. I had done such a remarkable job of burying any emotion with layer after layer of anger, that I didn’t actually know how to cry. Or how to be happy. Or what sadness felt like. Gentle, caring, powerful men taught me how to access the emotions that were driving the anger and gave them language. I was finally able to see my emotional landscape.

I divorced from my wife in 2013, which was my turning point. I was finally able to use the tools I had collected in an unconstrained environment. More accurately, the tools I was already using were allowed to flourish and bloom unhindered. I developed a lot of the values and morals I hold dear to this day. I learned how I want to share them with my children. I decided to be a model for them to emulate instead of just teaching. I was proud of myself.

I was ready to start dating, to show off my newest, best self. I went in knowing that dating is hard and by design has limiting returns. As luck would have it, I met a woman. Boy, did she have her emotional shit together. She took everything I knew and amplified it. What I learned from her in three years was, in volume, almost the same as what I learned in 40 years. And by no means did she have her life together, but we both learned so much from each other, and had so much fun doing hard things. Discovering, exploring, and finding resolutions to complex emotional concepts. Never forced, always voluntary, ever together. It was, in fact, the complete opposite of most of my life until that point. I was accepted and heard. What I said mattered. I felt powerful instead of powerless. I was helpful (to myself and her) instead of helpless. I was never angry, because there was never, ever a reason to be.

That relationship did not work out, and I (still) am pretty broken up about it. However, I’m not mad. I’m not angry. I have lots of other emotions about it, and am able to speak intelligently regarding them as to why they exist.

I am not an angry person any longer. There’s no need for it. I know that when I start feeling angry that there is something driving it, and now I’m curious what that is instead of reactive. Once I figure out what the driver is I can address its needs. Yes, I still get angry. It never helps though, other than to alienate people. I never get angry or mad at my children, my significant other, friends, or coworkers. Because, unless you physically threaten or harm my person or my family, there’s simply no need to. I’ve learned much in my life, and I learn a little more each day. Nevertheless, I’m proud of who I am, how far I’ve come, and the role model I present to the world.

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