How to Let Go of Anger

Humans are animals, and when we're cornered our fight or flight response engages. Our brains and bodies can't always distinguish between fear generated by a tiger chasing us up a tree or a hostile boss trying to cut us down in front of the team. Either way our amygdala is triggered, our heart rate skyrockets, and our breathing becomes shallow.  Emotion overcomes thought, and terror or anger subsumes rationality.

I understand the dynamics of flight or flight, and I've taken classes on how to move control of my thoughts from the primitive urge amygdala to the logical, reasonable frontal lobe. My problem is that I can't actually do it at the moment. 

My "cornered animal" response was triggered almost a month ago, and though the physical symptoms - nausea, skyrocketing heart rate, hot flashes, etc. - have diminished almost completely, my brain just can't stop circling around the hurt and anger. Somehow I lost my grip on the "rise above" mentality and now it's floating in the atmosphere. I can almost see it disappearing when I look up and shade my eyes.

Given that I haven't been praying or meditating, I'm not wholly surprised by my failure, but I am disappointed in myself for giving this event - this person - power over me. Knowledge isn't enough to stop a spiral, I need to put in the hard work to step sideways and out. I know my Mom is praying enough for both of us, but that doesn't let me off the hook.

A big part of my issue is that I haven't been able to hash it out with the person who hurt me. When my cats get  mad at each other they hiss, scratch, yowl and then chase each other all over the house, nails raking across the wood floors, tails puffed, teeth bared. I haven't yet had the opportunity to bare my teeth and hiss, so my reaction has all been internal. That's not healthy, and until I can process it verbally and get a response, I'm stuck.

As a good friend told me last night "there's always room on the high road" and so I've set my sights on an amicable conversation rather than a catfight. It might be a struggle to get up there, but nothing worthwhile is easy.

Letting Go, Just a Little Bit

At the dinner table last Thursday, William asked to go skiing with several friends over the long President's Day weekend. My heart dropped into my feet as I mentally covered the list of reasons why the trip was a bad idea: 1. COVID 2. Potential skiing injury 3. Lack of ski gear that fit 4. Loss of upcoming swim season (injury) and 5. COVID. We gave the parental answer equivalent to "I'm temporarily speechless" otherwise known as "maybe."

Over the next two days, William provided details such as the phone number of the adult who was accompanying the teenagers, the link to ski rental, the detailed itinerary and food he would need to bring. His organized mind saw only the plan and its potential, whereas my paranoid brain processed mostly the negative "what ifs." But the plan was ultimately solid and so we let him go, our senior who is almost eighteen but whose freedom has been seriously curtailed by the pandemic. 

We outfitted William with my old snow pants, Rob's ski jacket, helmet, goggles and gloves. It's been several years since he skied, due mostly to swim season as championship meets usually occur in February and March. Our kids learned how to ski when they were little, and as I watched William don the adult gear, my mind swooped back to memories of our six-year-old on short skis, rolling over moguls and diving down "blacks." I hoped he didn't aspire to those feats after such a long layoff with his foot or more of additional height throwing off his center of gravity.

While I was on the phone with my sister yesterday, discussing the rough draft of my book, William Snapchatted me to say that his ski day was over and there had been "no injuries, just lots and lots of fun." I put Karen on speakerphone so I could read his message and text back "hooray, hooray." I'm sure my flood of relief came through the phone and irritated my son to no end, though he responded with a picture of his smiling face.

Just as we're beginning a long-delayed and downsized process of letting go of our senior, I have to start letting go of the book I reviewed with my sister. It requires more editing before I release it to non-family beta readers, but ultimately it has to leave the safety of my hard drive and fly out into the buffeting winds of public opinion. For the first time, I will try to find a "real" publisher for a piece of my longer writing. Having only self-published before, that statement feels like a declaration of war - on my sanity, self-worth and security. But moving forward means letting go, and exploring new terrain, as William did yesterday, on skis in a foot of fresh powder.