MIND MOVES:AS A society, we have not mastered the handling of anger. Anger is an emotion felt within. When kept at this level, it is a valuable ally. All too often we speedily convert anger into aggression, bypassing assertiveness.
We cross lines, invading others with an onslaught. Or we stay silent, fuming inside for hours. Many people anger easily. Some use anger to control people. They know their anger frightens and bullies others into submission.
One Sunday three years ago, I delivered a day-long seminar in Dublin. Afterwards, I was tired, and the organiser then asked me if I would drive a friend back to Limerick. Without thinking, I happily agreed. As I continued speaking to other people, I became aware of a powerful wave of anger surging within me. The suddenness and force of this emotion really took me by surprise. I took a few moments to tune into myself, trying to understand what was going on.
I soon became aware of the source of my anger. Having been with people without a break for over seven hours and speaking continuously throughout, I had been looking forward to driving home in my own company in silence, to prepare myself for the beginning of the working week the following morning.
I needed this alone-time to re-charge my batteries after a long, intense, enjoyable day. By agreeing to give that lift, I had neglected my own needs. I would probably be talking for a further three hours in the car. My anger was my ally, reminding me that I was not attending to my own needs.
Initially within me, my anger was directed at the person who made the request. How dare they make such a request, I thought. Realising that my anger was about me and not the other person, I brought my attention back to myself, to what my anger was trying to communicate to me, my need in the situation.
I did not need to communicate my anger to the two people involved. My anger was me communicating with me. I needed to own my own anger, listen to it, identify what it sought to communicate to me, and take appropriate action to meet my need.
The person to whom I was to give the lift had come and thanked me. To honour my need, I needed to speak to both the director of the seminar and the person for whom the lift was sought. My choice was either to suppress my own need and give the lift, or to honour my need and tell them both that I needed to travel alone. I decided to honour my need.
I communicated to them both that I really needed time and space alone after the intensity of the seminar. They both immediately understood. Within seconds, my anger dissolved instantly and totally, as rapidly as it had arisen. Peace returned within me. I had taken steps to meet my needs. Like warning lights on the dashboard, anger has a purpose. Attend to the issue, and the warning light quietly switches off.
Neither of the two people concerned knew that I was angry. They had every right to ask for the lift. It was up to me to decide what to do with their request. Saying "no" meant risking their disappointment and disapproval. As it happened, I received neither.
They were very understanding. The woman had a return train ticket anyway, though I didn't know that when I retracted the offer of the lift.
Had I suppressed my need, I'm sure we would have had a pleasant trip. The conversation would have been flowing. But that was not what I needed. I probably would have arrived in Limerick late at night, exhausted and all talked out, totally drained and facing unprepared into a demanding week the following morning.
Instead, the silence and solitude of the trip enabled me to gently leave the seminar behind me and focus on my own wellbeing for a while, and the week ahead.
Some people regularly express anger and aggression as a response to experiencing hurt. They feel the hurt for an instant, then quickly translate their hurt into anger, self-righteously ranting and raving. Doing so protects them from feeling the full impact of their hurt and from risking that others might see their hurt, their vulnerability exposed. This is understandable. They may be frantically hoping that the other will recognise and honour their well-disguised hurt.
The other, by now feeling very threatened and firmly entrenched in self-protect mode to survive the hurricane, is in no position to see through the camouflage.
In the process, the angry one has distanced themselves from others, deeply upset and alone, their hurt, loneliness, and sadness multiplied. Their core issue - that they are really hurting - remains unexpressed and unresolved. Clear communication has vacated the premises. Their fundamental needs in the situation go unmet, hidden and heavily disguised within the familiar safe cloak of anger.
Ultimately, there are no real winners.
Terry Lynch is a psychotherapist, GP in Limerick and the author of Beyond Prozac