Anger And Relationship

Anger can obstruct, erode, or even demolish relational intimacy. And anger can also enhance such intimacy, particularly when it is engaged in the context of spiritual practice. As much as anger's fire can injuriously burn, it can also illuminate -- it all depends on what kind of relationship with anger we cultivate.

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Relationships that are stuck in anger-fueled power struggles are often sustained by a mutual bargaining (for example: "I won't complain about your drinking if you'll stop trying to have sex with me"). Far-from-sacred contracts these are, at best being ways to maintain the status quo, to take care of business. However, to go beyond treating relationship as business, or as something merely to negotiate our way through, relationship needs to become conscious, or infused by a mutual, ongoing commitment to uncovering, exploring, and awakening from the neurotic rituals habitually animated by both partners.

Essential to this is a responsibly expressed sharing of our inner workings (and also of our resistance to doing so!), including our intentions and emotional states. Anger then is not necessarily kept to oneself, declawed, muted, nor reduced to an angerless report, but may be -- under appropriate conditions -- openly and aptly shown and shared, not just as content, but also, to varying degrees, as energy, raw energy.

The heat of our preferences -- how easily they stir up anger, while our mind, apparently uninvited, tosses in its commentary: Should I take my anger seriously? Should I wait until it passes? Should I express it directly, right now, or should I maybe reword it a little? Why is this happening to me? It is definitely your fault -- why shouldn't I be angry at you? I guess my spiritual practice isn't what I thought -- but would I be getting angry if you were treating me better? My thoughts are kerosene. Observe the sensations and the intentions, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale -- damn, this is not working! I promised myself I wouldn't lose control again, and here I am, already losing it!

And so on. Intimacy may catalyze the surfacing of judgments (in the sense of negative evaluations) and reactive tendencies that might have otherwise gone undetected. We may mask such judgments, but we cannot completely conceal the feeling of them. The feeling of them cuts into our partners, generating hurt, distance, confusion, and fear -- unless we can quickly, honestly, and caringly share the feelings housed at the heart of such judgment, including those for which we have the most aversion.

How very easy it is be angry at our anger ("When will I be free of this damn anger?"), rejecting of our rage. Given the frequently harmful consequences of acted-out anger (epitomized by violent behavior), as well as the often unpleasantly gripping intensity of the sensations that commonly characterize anger, it is understandable that we might want to distance ourselves from our (and/or others') anger, or at least from the actual feeling of anger. Unfortunately, such distancing tends to reduce anger to little more than just some sort of apparently noxious or otherwise undesirable substance for which there may seem to be no other suitable remedy (or use) than domestication, muzzling, neutering, or outright elimination.

However, instead of getting beyond anger or removing ourselves from it, we need to become more intimate with it -- but how can we do this if we will only examine our anger from a distance (anger-in), or insist on emptying ourselves of its energies when it arises (anger-out)? Intimacy with our anger can enhance self-knowledge, integrity, relational depth, and spiritual maturation, providing both heat and light for what needs to be done, helping us to embody a passion as potently alive as it is responsible, as we learn the art of being angry with an open -- or committed-to-being-open -- heart.

Brian and Tina are at a stalemate. Both are very articulate and insightful, yet they are stuck. Their knowledge -- both are therapists -- does not seem to be making any difference. He wants more commitment from her, she wants less pressure from him, and both are unhappy. She says she feels guilty about her lack of commitment to being with him, so we talk about her guilt and its roots, but still there is little life in the room. They are both clearly angry and very much under control. Firmly in position, armed in their attempted openness, trying to be non-combative in their combativeness. The stage is set. "Face each other," I say, "and keep eye contact." Tina briefly raises her hands slightly, palms out, smiles, and delivers some more dead-end insight. "Do that again with your hands," I say, "and breathe deeper." She grins. I see a flash of shame. Her hands are sliding up and down her thighs. "What do your hands want to do?" I ask her.

In an instant, her hands are on Brian's knees, abruptly pushing him back. Immediately, she pulls back, smiling, changing the subject. I ask her what she's feeling as she smiles, and she says that she's angry, and that she's withdrawing from him. The room is tense. We briefly talk about how easily she puts herself down for not wanting to be closer to him; even to give him her anger would be, she says, a kind of giving in. And so on. Brian is hurt, but still very much present. "Let's try a different tack," I say. "Tina, I want you to give your anger to Brian as fully as possible, but without any words." She no longer can smile. I have her hold her a pillow between her hands, to be squeezed as hard as she can. A half minute or so passes. I can see and feel her rage, but she is silent. I ask her where she is most tense, and she says her throat.

Suddenly, she leans forward, screaming at him, her sounds deep and very powerful; she is not acting. Brian looks much more awake -- and caring. Tina is full-blooded in what she is allowing, and is simultaneously very vulnerable. Tears mix with her rage. Less than a minute later, I have her interlock hands with him while she bites down on a towel that I pull on; this loosens her jaw and neck. For a minute or so, she pushes against him, biting very hard, her eyes pure fury and hurt. Then I have her let go of the towel and his hands. Silence, and a deeper silence. Both had complained of not having enough of a soul-connection, but now it is evident that they are plugged into an intimacy that pulsates with spirit-force. He, unlike many men, did not pull back or "disappear" in the face of her raw rage. They are not through their difficulty, but they are now in a place where they are far more capable of getting through it.

The expression of anger and the need to take action are not necessarily the