The ocean was angry. Its waves were pounding powerfully against the bottom of the pier, forcing it to tremble. This was the same pier that I would be required to jump off of later in the afternoon. I was terrified of having to dive into the tumultuous surf. The other Junior Lifeguards coached me, “Anne, there is place below the waves where the water is calm. You will be safe there. As soon as you enter in, swim to the bottom, hug the sand, and wait until the wave subsides, then come up for air.”
When it was my turn, I climbed over the pier’s edge, gripped the wooden pillars desperately, took a deep breath, and jumped. As soon as I landed, I followed my instructions and swam to the bottom of the sea. I waited in the peaceful water, gazing up at the tumultuous surf just above me, and watched until it relaxed. I came up for air, took a deep breath, and swam to the shoreline. When I arrived, I was immediately relieved by the stability of being grounded and applauded by the teammates who had jumped before me.
My own moods often mirror those of the ocean. That must be why we are such good friends. I often feel rageful, out of control, about the injustices that happened to me and that I continue to observe in the world around me. My models for appropriately expressing anger growing up weren’t effective: my options were either to, one, repress my temper and allow it to put me into a depressive, exhausted stouper, or, two, to let it out violently at the expense of others. I modified both models in my own expression of anger by repressing it and then expressing it against myself through a variety of self-destructive behaviors. I didn’t want to hurt other people, but hurting myself seemed to be appropriate.
As a grew up, I found more effective ways to express my anger. I played competitive water polo for about ten years. In this context, I could scream, push, kick, and hold, all with the goal to overpower my opponent and give my team the advantage. This outlet proved helpful in anger management throughout my developmental years.
As soon as I stopped playing though, the anger, anxiety, depression, and despair immediately became immanagable. I remember waking up daily furious and not understanding the root of my rage. The memories of the abuse had not yet resurfaced. I used to have dreams of rape threats. My brain was preparing itself to release all of the pain that I had experienced, but I wasn’t ready to jump in.
I needed to be coached in emotional management before I became aware of what happened, before I could let the anger out. I needed to know that I, too, had a place of deep peace within me that I could go to when I felt the waves of emotions becoming uncontrollable. As I found this space within me, I could observe and feel the feelings without participating in them, without acting on them. I could wait and watch the tumultuous rage of my past resurface, as I sat in the peace of my present.
What I quickly learned from my very experienced coaches is that anger can’t be processed. It can’t be processed because it is a cover, a band-aid of sorts. It’s the easier emotion, but not the helpful one. The emotions beneath it: sadness, shame, grief, fear; were the emotions that I really needed to reach, that I could process. The anger on the other hand simply needed to be let go. As I let it go, the other emotions surfaced quickly and eventually I was able to process them. I was able to heal them.
Today, I still struggle to express my anger without being self-destructive. Old habits die hard after all. But I’m learning that when I feel angry, I simply need to swim to the deepest most peaceful part of myself, hug myself lovingly, and wait until I feel the courage to let go of the anger and address what’s beneath it. Then, I can come up for air, breath fully, and enjoy the relief of healing, the stability of being grounded within myself, and the joy of safe and healthy relationships.