Being angry is easy.  Justifiable anger has fueled the lion’s share of my life.  I have a very distinct memory of a period where I only listened to Beyonce’s ‘Lemonade’ to and from work every day.  This was during a particularly intense salary and promotion negotiation. The anger fueled the fire inside of me to keep pushing, to know my worth, and to make the men in authoritative positions over my employment see and acknowledge me and the value that I had brought to the company for many years.  In the end, it was a compromise.  However, the anger catapulted me far beyond the station that I assumed they would assign to me.  

I learned to channel my anger in my youth.  However, I look back on that child now with loving eyes, wishing I had the wisdom that I have since discovered.  I wish that I could instill in that young girl that she never needed the validation and approval of anyone but herself.  That she was smart and talented beyond what she was given credit for.  She should know that she had value beyond being someone’s wife, mother, daughter, or employee.  I wish she knew that under this fiery rage of anger is a deep and powerful sadness.  I wish she knew that sadness was not failure and that she knew how to grieve instead of pulling herself up by the bootstraps and powering on.  Although resilience is a very important and effective trait to have in life, so is sadness and grief. 

Our modern world has somehow made sadness and grief shameful.  “Don’t be sad!”  “Smile, you will feel better!”  “You should be happy!  This person (or animal) that has died is in a better place now and out of pain!”.  To this, I turn a skeptical eye and say, “Really?  Are you sure about that?”.   People are so uncomfortable in these vulnerable spots that they can’t even allow a person to feel these deep and powerful emotions in their presence for long.  How many times have I heard, “You are all better now, right?  Your positive attitude makes everything better!”  To this, I would smile, and nod, and play along.  All to make the other person comfortable in thinking that I was fine and dandy.  Maintaining the status quo if you will.

Make The Emotions Work For You!

Recently, in a therapy session, I learned that anger is a secondary emotion.  Everything that I wrapped my identity up in was false.  I was not a bad ass who didn’t take anyone’s garbage.  Quite the opposite has been true.  I was a scared and sad child, eating everyone’s broccoli for them and inspiring them to be the best version of themselves.  All while I suffered in an unrelenting emotional prison.  I was like a reverse Death Eater.  Instead of draining people of their warmth and happiness, I took on and fed off their anger and sadness.  It took a lot of therapy and self-reflection for me to honestly answer the question “Why are you carrying the burden of everyone else’s baggage?”

I have recently come to realize that I have been taking this role on since I was about eight years old.  That was a traumatic time in my existence.  My parents decided to separate and divorce when I was eight.  They each started dating other people.  There was no real explanation, or help understanding what was happening (outside of my dear first best friend, Heather, whose parents had been divorced for quite some time, and I think about her frequently.)  I look back on this time with deep and profound sadness.  I often tell my therapist that I just want a time machine to travel back and just hug baby Chris and tell her that even though life is hard, it will all be ok.  Eventually.  I mean, it will, right?  Maybe?

When I try to work on letting go of anger and rage, my brain slaps me in the face.  It seductively whispers to my soul that anger and rage have served me, and others in my community.  Without the complex anger, we would not have the Hypertrophic Olivary Degeneration Association.  The list of the organization’s accomplishments over less than two years boggles the mind.  All of that has been driven by anger.  My soul tries to reason with my brain, but that girl is one gigantic logic trap.  It reminds me that rage fueled anger has boosted my career for decades.  It has kept me in the race to finish, even though the pain is trying to overpower the rage.  I remind it that it is slowly but surely killing my spirit.  As if to say, “Yes, we can accomplish this moonshot…but at what cost?”

When Anger Is More Than Anger

This next part is a bit personal and vulnerable, and I will do my best to not ‘out’ or shame anyone but is the reason that I showed up at my therapist’s door earlier this year.  This story is not unique in the chronic disease community, and that fact fuels that sadness in me.  Before brain surgery, I had strained but salvageable family ties.  We were just closing the first year of the COVID-19 pandemic, and my medical team and I were very concerned what that little virus would do to my brain if it had a chance to get in there.  A strict ‘No Visitors’ rule was placed at my home. 

I didn’t go anywhere or see anyone except for the people that live with me.  Once the vaccines were available, we loosened up the restriction to allow vaccinated folks who were feeling well.  It was a hugely isolating and defeating time.  It was a time that I needed my family of origin to rally for me and my family.  Sadly, most of them disappeared as if I had never existed.  

Months later, I was diagnosed with HOD and was completely crushed.  I received a call from an older relative in my family of origin who took the opportunity to tell me that they now understand why they were still living and on this planet.  It was to take care of me, of course.  And then, I didn’t hear from that person again for months.  Another family member, when asked why they hadn’t reached out to me since the surgery, then decided to blow up my phone on my birthday (which overwhelmed me and caused me to shut down completely) stated that they “…didn’t know that there was a statute of limitations on showing sympathy.”  I mean, I gotta hand it to him…that was a great comeback.  So great that it haunts me still, almost two years later. 

And what of my friends?  I received some cards and texts in the beginning, but those have almost completely faded away. There was no card or flowers from my place of employment.  I had been there for 15 years at the time.  I have been separated myself from my employer, since I am on forever disability.  They had to terminate my employment in December, 2023.

There will be some who read this and say, “That’s not me!  That’s not true!” And yeah, I have a few Ride or Die friends, here no matter what, checking in with me, as I have gained my ability to check in with them too.  There are some that I only speak to a few times a year, if that, and they will always hold a place in my heart (not the angry part).  I know that those people know who they are and know that this is not about them.

It is devastatingly hard to know that you gave some relationships everything, but when the going got tough, many of those folks found new, more healthy people to cling to.  As I work hard on recognizing the sadness, I also work to remove the rage and anger that I feel about being left during the absolute most difficult time of my life.  I know that I have succeeded when I stop being mad and start feeling sorry for the people and institutions that bailed out on me.  I mean, they are missing out on the best part!