When I sat down to write this a few days ago, I was very angry.
I had ended my workday on Friday infuriated and frustrated on so many levels, my heart rate climbing with the injustice of a situation I found myself in. On Saturday morning, my anger woke me up at 6 am with the same thumping pulse, my thoughts ruminating on the previous day’s challenges.
On top of my anger about the situation itself was some meta-anger around feeling no permission to express it, and further anger around an underlying feeling of shame that I felt anger at all, that I had allowed myself to become angry, which was surely a weakness in itself. And then, of course, I was angry my anger had woken me up on my day off with all the work thoughts. The pot was shaking and threatening to boil over, but no steam valve existed.
Is it okay to be angry? And, if so, how? This was the underlying question I was grappling with.
I spent the weekend trying to sort it all out.
Growing up, anger was expressed in our household through silent disapproval and punishment by silence. My mum grew up with a mother who reacted quickly and aggressively with her anger, saying things in temper that were sometimes cruel. In response, my mum decided to swing in the opposite direction. Instead, she would say nothing and stew. We’re not talking the kind of temporary pause that allows you to collect your thoughts before you share them calmly with the person who upset you. We’re talking about an avoidance-filled silence intended to make displeasure known and that never really invited you into a conversation about the situation itself.
And my reaction to that? Hating it that she didn’t just say what she was feeling directly and giving people that opportunity to understand and respond. I, therefore, became the person who would say the most direct thing and let my feelings be known, come hell or high water. Because at least everyone knew how I felt and it was all out in the open then, right?
I don’t need to go into how this backfired repeatedly.
(Also, this is not a mother complaint. Mum, you were doing the best you could.)
Despite my direct and swift delivery, every expression of my anger still came with a massive dose of shame. Anger was bad in my household. It was a failure of self-control.
So, I never learned how to take this rising, sometimes all-consuming feeling and do something healthy with it.
Society didn’t help much, either. Not too many role models there. There hasn’t typically been much permission for women to express feelings of anger throughout history without risking their safety at worst, dismissal, and gaslighting at best.
Throughout history, angry women have been demonised as harridans and dayans, or witches. They were burned at the stake, hanged or paraded naked in the streets. - Pragya Agarwal
(By the way, don’t Google “Angry Woman” unless you want to incite… well… anger. Welcome to misogynism central.)
When I was being bullied as a teenager (and I don’t mean being called the odd name, I mean enduring a multi-year systematic campaign from multiple individuals that involved verbal, physical, and psychological abuse), my mum’s advice was to “never let them see it hurt you.”
When we were in couples therapy during the slow deterioration of my last marriage, I’ll never forget one exchange. I was getting angry because weeks were going by with promises made and never fulfilled, and meanwhile, all the understanding and effort seemed to be required from my side each week. It’s not like I was shouting or calling names or anything; that’s never been how I roll, but I do prosecute and control the conversation with force when I am angry. Either way, I was clearly extremely frustrated and hurt because it was not for the first time and I didn’t feel heard. I still remember the therapist saying something to the effect of “why are you so angry?” leaning in and pointing her finger at me in an accusatory way and then piling into some gaslighty argument about how I was an angry woman and no wonder the marriage was going this way if this is “what he had to put up with.” I pulled myself back and said I should probably just get up and walk out. But even that wasn’t appropriate. I had to stick around and take my punishment for expressing my feelings too forcefully or be considered someone who routinely withdrew during confrontations.
All of which to say, I have some baggage when it comes to anger. The message I continually got was that it was bad to feel angry and that I should shove it down and never ever, under any circumstances, express it.
The good news is that I found a better therapist in more recent years, and in our first session ever, when I explained how I had expressed anger in a particular situation and even cussed, instead of chastizing me as I was expecting, she said, simply “Good.” It’s not an exaggeration to say she left me speechless.
I’ve also devoted a lot of time and energy in the last 20 years of my life to growing into the kind of person I want to be. And to me, in no insignificant way, that means showing up in a way that is reflective of my heart and my values vs. someone who is a slave to a fleeting emotion or reaction. Integrity through the chain of values, thoughts, feelings, and response is my mantra. I hate looking back and feeling like I didn’t show up in a way that was consistent with who I feel I am on the inside.
But I still struggle with anger. Because another one of my values is a strong sense of justice, which often means it’s important to me to directly confront and address situations in which I see and experience injustice. Staying silent is torture and rage-inducing in itself.
Strangely enough, my guide for processing came in the form of my own advice to my daughter earlier before this work situation even bubbled up and over.
“It’s ok to be mad, honey when it’s warranted.” I texted her. “Being angry isn’t a negative thing. And expressing it isn’t bad. As long as you’re not mean. And you were not. Your friend let you down and put you in a position where you couldn’t get your work completed to meet a deadline that was important to you. That is good reason to be angry/upset and that’s something that’s entirely appropriate to communicate back with her.”
Advice taken, me.
But how do you parse this at work when you’re afraid that any expression of anger, however well packaged, could negatively impact your relationship with someone(s) you need to continue working with?
I don’t have an answer to this yet, but I can share what I did, as imperfect and somewhat unsatisfying as it was.
I went back to Brene Brown’s quote that opened this post. Back to asking myself what was most important to me, what was consistent with my goals at work, and how I wanted to show up personally. Was it engaging in a discussion about the behavior that made me angry or was it transforming my anger into a catalyst for positive change and being a role model to my staff for leading a path through conflict? Yes, I want to be that last person.
I focused not on the behavior of the other person (which, in this instance, was someone trying to drag me into an argument through blaming and shaming) but on how our process and collaboration were not working for my team. I stayed the high road, expressed how the outcome was problematic and not conducive to us achieving our goals, and challenged us to find another way of working together, free of the rigid process that they were boxing us into, and that was standing in the way of true collaboration.
In many ways, it was the simple practice of separating the emotion from the response. Which is simple to say but not so simple to do. 49 years; still took me all weekend to get there.
Did I receive satisfaction, however? Not really. I forwent having candid conversations with a few people at work who, while I’m certain are well-intentioned, are at the very least willfully blind to organizational and interpersonal dynamics because (a) they think they are better for the job and (b) they view such things as silly and in the way. As a result, I don’t think they’ll hear me. The mindset that is driving the behavior is also likely to make them unable to grasp what the problem is with it. Is it worth it? Maybe. I don’t know yet. Part of the challenge is that I need a bit more distance to decide and by then it often seems silly to drag the issue back up.
Still ruminating on that.
I don’t feel the same shame about feeling anger as I used to, but I do feel frustrated by my perceived inability to process it and respond in a way that is direct yet healthy and satisfying. My staff tell me I present as cool as a cucumber, my colleagues often think I’m too nice. Inside I realize I’m overcompensating for years of a too-quick tongue and a series of anger hangovers.
So, no sage advice wrapped in a pretty bow here. Just a truly Messy Middle post about the things I’ve learned and the things I’m still struggling with around anger. I still need to figure out how to bridge the gap between an emotional response that doesn’t give me time to give a shit about the impact and a rational response that presents as polished but is a tiny bit afraid still to make another person uncomfortable. (Particularly men.)
The journey continues.
It's amazing to me that you can articulate your feelings so well something that alludes me unfortunately.