Anger, Rage, Frustration
Anger, Rage and Frustration.....who likes to feel these emotions? But they are a reality, just as real as love, compassion and peace. The distance between them is the great divide of forgiveness.
I am not trying to spiritualize my feelings. It is the lens of life I see through. I can no more not see this way than a person who has red tinted glasses can not see red in everything viewed. Spiritual is who I am.
So if you don't believe in God, don't close off and think 'just another Jesus Freak' gonna tell me how to see the light by saying a sweet little prayer. You are safe, I don't believe in save me - I want to get out of hell prayers. You will never hear me leading you to do one.
Oh, back to anger, rage, frustration....how can a person go from normal to rage in seconds? How is it possible to go from asking someone to stop doing something very little to blowing up inside overflowing with explosive emotion? I ask once, twice, three times, and it is totally disregarded....I ask four, five, six times....and the action still persists. Then the person move away just a few inches to do what I have simply asks them not to do.
Slam, rejection, hurt, "My kids hate me!" anger, rage, I am about to explode!
Must do something, must work hard, must exert lots of energy to not blow.
The kitchen, messy sink, full trash can, milk dripping down cabinet, stove stop soiled, dishes all over....it will be healthier and safer to take out my frustration and raw anger on the kitchen...instead of opening my mouth. If my mouth opens I will spew out words of hate, destruction and death. If someone comes near me I might knock their head off. Yes, the kitchen, it needs me and I need it.
Slam, glasses enter the dishwasher, clash, tin sheets fly in the rack, bang, plates all line up, sling, silverware falls into place. (no one speaks from the living room but I have made more noise than a tornado).
On to the stove, glass top cleaner drizzled on white on black. Scrubbing sponge made wet. New razor knife, open the package, slide the box flap up, remove a blade. Thinking it is a good thing I am not a cutter....this would not be good for a cutter.
Trash bag, filled, pulled, tied. New trash bag, woomp, with a sharp shake the air rushes in just about as quickly as the anger blew me up. Smash it into the can, toss in the rest of the trash.
A rag....I need a rag...on the the dryer...dig, push, pull....the way towels are made so cheaply today a rag is never to far away. "This will do" backing into the kitchen to wipe the mess on the counter, cabinet, stove top, and sink.
Empty the coffee canister...about two days old...half full, rinse, soap, slush in water. Swirl, empty. Fill again, swirl, empty. One more time, swirl, empty. Replace to coffee warmer.
Quick look around, grabbing the cloth napkins and towels, and of course the rag, wipe a few spots on the tile floor.....I am out of there. Back to the laundry space, fling in the cloths, shut the door, turn off the light....
I am out of here. Got to go write. Don't want to speak, don't want to engage a single person, need to be alone, need to get me space, need to unload....and write.
Enter my bedroom, again, forcefully throwing magazines, books, journal, calendar off my bed....a mess....always a mess on the side of my bed. Shoes...I can put those up...one, two, three, four, flying into the closet floor corner....close to the shoe rack even if not in it. Remove the foot or two stack of folded clothes....husband already put his up...he always does what needs to be immediately...never leaving a pile like me. Picking up the clothes I pile them nicely on the three other feet of close hiding the rocker....how long have they been there...one week, two weeks, maybe more...and there on the carpet lies my small black suitcase, still loaded from a trip 3 or more weeks ago...get out of here....this will not help.
So I write, write, write. My place of release, my refuge, a time to be truthful, to see clearly what burns the center of my gut.
What will people think? Good thing you are not in politics, can you imagine the ammunition you give your enemies by being real, honest, transparent. Everybody gets angry...some a little more quickly than others, some a little more frequently than others, some a little more loud than others. Verbal, physical, destructive or constructive.....the quick build up of chemicals released by emotions must find a way out.
The door crack open.....a little noise....
"Momma," speaks my sweet girl's voice. "I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU," slowly, firm, controlled but mad is my response. A look of sorrow through the door.....to a repeated somewhat gentler, "I do not want to talk to you." Crack in door closes, light in adjoining room goes out, door exited and shut.
Do you think this makes me feel good about myself? Why am I so soft, feeling so guilty, mad at myself for how I can't handle simple disobedience...defiance, but not a moral sin! I am so sad...still mad but close to tears. "What kind of mother am I?" "What kind of person am I?" run the list of doubting myself thoughts.
Finally, I let out a deep breath, again breathe in deeply, than slowly allowing the air to flow out of my body, soul and spirit. Breath! It is a gift from God. The first things He gives us when we are born, the last thing He takes when we turn stone cold in death. Breath, the breath of life....much more powerful than I will ever understand. Cleansing, healing, calming......releasing the toxins and replenishing my being.
Now, how do I restore my relationship with my child? Never let the sun set on anger. Another cleansing breath, it almost releases the tight burning not in my stomach. Grace, mercy, forgiveness.....humility, confession, Godly sorrow...
Oh, Father God, help me, help me to not be so quick to anger. Help me learn to handle disobedience without anger. Forgive me for raging, slamming, hating. Teach me to temper my anger, through your peace. I love you Father God. I am not worthy, but so blessed to have You....my Safe Place, with You inside my spirit. More of You and less of more....in my weakness, You be my strength. Time to kneel before my daughter's bed....time to take responsibility for my rage...time to ask for forgiveness and reassure my love. So unworthy, but blessed. How, Lord, does a person live without You? I would not know what to do, how to act, be able to extend a bent me toward You.
Yes, that's it. Use this to "bend me!" The cry of the revivalist in 1904, "bend me, bend me, bend me" to your will. Only You rise out of sin, goodness and eternal life. With You there is forever the wonderful exchange of my ugly for Your good...the blessing the never ends...."My grace is sufficient" says Your Word....thankful to people like me, Your supply will never run dry. I'm dry, I thirst, I need, fill me Father God. Overflow Me with You.
If you made it this far, may my raw life experience, help you not to stumble as much as I do....and maybe, just maybe....you will be touched by Him.
I am not trying to spiritualize my feelings. It is the lens of life I see through. I can no more not see this way than a person who has red tinted glasses can not see red in everything viewed. Spiritual is who I am.So if you don't believe in God, don't close off and think 'just another Jesus Freak' gonna tell me how to see the light by saying a sweet little prayer. You are safe, I don't believe in save me - I want to get out of hell prayers. You will never hear me leading you to do one.
Oh, back to anger, rage, frustration....how can a person go from normal to rage in seconds? How is it possible to go from asking someone to stop doing something very little to blowing up inside overflowing with explosive emotion? I ask once, twice, three times, and it is totally disregarded....I ask four, five, six times....and the action still persists. Then the person move away just a few inches to do what I have simply asks them not to do.
Slam, rejection, hurt, "My kids hate me!" anger, rage, I am about to explode!
Must do something, must work hard, must exert lots of energy to not blow.
The kitchen, messy sink, full trash can, milk dripping down cabinet, stove stop soiled, dishes all over....it will be healthier and safer to take out my frustration and raw anger on the kitchen...instead of opening my mouth. If my mouth opens I will spew out words of hate, destruction and death. If someone comes near me I might knock their head off. Yes, the kitchen, it needs me and I need it.
Slam, glasses enter the dishwasher, clash, tin sheets fly in the rack, bang, plates all line up, sling, silverware falls into place. (no one speaks from the living room but I have made more noise than a tornado).
On to the stove, glass top cleaner drizzled on white on black. Scrubbing sponge made wet. New razor knife, open the package, slide the box flap up, remove a blade. Thinking it is a good thing I am not a cutter....this would not be good for a cutter.
Trash bag, filled, pulled, tied. New trash bag, woomp, with a sharp shake the air rushes in just about as quickly as the anger blew me up. Smash it into the can, toss in the rest of the trash.
A rag....I need a rag...on the the dryer...dig, push, pull....the way towels are made so cheaply today a rag is never to far away. "This will do" backing into the kitchen to wipe the mess on the counter, cabinet, stove top, and sink.
Empty the coffee canister...about two days old...half full, rinse, soap, slush in water. Swirl, empty. Fill again, swirl, empty. One more time, swirl, empty. Replace to coffee warmer.
Quick look around, grabbing the cloth napkins and towels, and of course the rag, wipe a few spots on the tile floor.....I am out of there. Back to the laundry space, fling in the cloths, shut the door, turn off the light....
I am out of here. Got to go write. Don't want to speak, don't want to engage a single person, need to be alone, need to get me space, need to unload....and write.
Enter my bedroom, again, forcefully throwing magazines, books, journal, calendar off my bed....a mess....always a mess on the side of my bed. Shoes...I can put those up...one, two, three, four, flying into the closet floor corner....close to the shoe rack even if not in it. Remove the foot or two stack of folded clothes....husband already put his up...he always does what needs to be immediately...never leaving a pile like me. Picking up the clothes I pile them nicely on the three other feet of close hiding the rocker....how long have they been there...one week, two weeks, maybe more...and there on the carpet lies my small black suitcase, still loaded from a trip 3 or more weeks ago...get out of here....this will not help.
So I write, write, write. My place of release, my refuge, a time to be truthful, to see clearly what burns the center of my gut.
What will people think? Good thing you are not in politics, can you imagine the ammunition you give your enemies by being real, honest, transparent. Everybody gets angry...some a little more quickly than others, some a little more frequently than others, some a little more loud than others. Verbal, physical, destructive or constructive.....the quick build up of chemicals released by emotions must find a way out.
The door crack open.....a little noise....
"Momma," speaks my sweet girl's voice. "I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU," slowly, firm, controlled but mad is my response. A look of sorrow through the door.....to a repeated somewhat gentler, "I do not want to talk to you." Crack in door closes, light in adjoining room goes out, door exited and shut.
Do you think this makes me feel good about myself? Why am I so soft, feeling so guilty, mad at myself for how I can't handle simple disobedience...defiance, but not a moral sin! I am so sad...still mad but close to tears. "What kind of mother am I?" "What kind of person am I?" run the list of doubting myself thoughts.
Finally, I let out a deep breath, again breathe in deeply, than slowly allowing the air to flow out of my body, soul and spirit. Breath! It is a gift from God. The first things He gives us when we are born, the last thing He takes when we turn stone cold in death. Breath, the breath of life....much more powerful than I will ever understand. Cleansing, healing, calming......releasing the toxins and replenishing my being.
Now, how do I restore my relationship with my child? Never let the sun set on anger. Another cleansing breath, it almost releases the tight burning not in my stomach. Grace, mercy, forgiveness.....humility, confession, Godly sorrow...
Oh, Father God, help me, help me to not be so quick to anger. Help me learn to handle disobedience without anger. Forgive me for raging, slamming, hating. Teach me to temper my anger, through your peace. I love you Father God. I am not worthy, but so blessed to have You....my Safe Place, with You inside my spirit. More of You and less of more....in my weakness, You be my strength. Time to kneel before my daughter's bed....time to take responsibility for my rage...time to ask for forgiveness and reassure my love. So unworthy, but blessed. How, Lord, does a person live without You? I would not know what to do, how to act, be able to extend a bent me toward You.
Yes, that's it. Use this to "bend me!" The cry of the revivalist in 1904, "bend me, bend me, bend me" to your will. Only You rise out of sin, goodness and eternal life. With You there is forever the wonderful exchange of my ugly for Your good...the blessing the never ends...."My grace is sufficient" says Your Word....thankful to people like me, Your supply will never run dry. I'm dry, I thirst, I need, fill me Father God. Overflow Me with You.
If you made it this far, may my raw life experience, help you not to stumble as much as I do....and maybe, just maybe....you will be touched by Him.
Comments
You are not alone! My children are grown, but reading your post transported me back to those days, those days when I could go from frustrated to rage in seconds. Thank you for being so real and so honest about the struggles that every parent faces. Thank you for sharing not only the rage, but the broken heart that follows. God is the great Redeemer, the great Healer. Hang on to Him.
I left you a little something over at the Glass House blog, under the "We Have a Winner" post.
Hang in there,
Cheri
love U!
pat