I’ve been a horrible person for about six or seven months now. I haven’t been horrible every second. I’ve gone for weeks without being horrible. But then something happens—a word is said, a look is given—and I instantly become horrible. And when that happens, I say nasty things, intended to hurt. If the person I’m arguing with goes low, I go lower. I feel like I’m constantly on the defense, ready for a fight—often, even, looking for a fight. I’m a tinderbox, and one simple word causes me to explode and fight without mercy, without regard for the person I’m fighting with, without pausing and asking myself why I even feel the need to fight.
The last time this happened was last week. I had an argument with someone—an argument that never should have taken place. But I heard this person say one sentence, and I exploded; I was instantly in attack mode. Even as I was arguing, a part of my brain was telling me to stop. To walk away. To let it go. And not to fight so dirty and say awful things that I could never take back. But I didn’t stop. I kept going, feeling completely justified. But later that night, when I was alone, the anger disappeared. And as I thought back over the incident, I realized that the person I was arguing with was right. Every statement the person made was truthful, and every question they asked me was spot on:
Why do you keep doing this?
I can’t seem to get it right with you.
You misinterpret everything I say to you and twist it into something I never said.
Why are you so angry?
Alone in the middle of the night, those questions and statements hit me hard. For the first time in months, I started examining my behavior. I admitted to myself that I’d been the one in the wrong. I’d been fighting battles that didn’t even exist outside my own head. Why? What was wrong with me? Why was I so angry? After much reflection and prayer, I realized that my anger had been coming from a place of fear and hurt. I’ve been afraid of change, of losing any part of the life I have, of being left behind by the people who mean the most to me. And I’ve been hurting—I’ve been in a season of physical pain like I’ve never known. I’ve also been hurting on an emotional level, so unhappy with certain areas of my life that the smallest, most benign comment feels like salt in a deep, open wound.
That argument made me see some very ugly truths about myself: I’ve been wrong. I’ve been mean. I’ve been deliberately cutting and cruel. And that’s not who I am. I’m a sensitive person with empathy and love—I get physically sick when someone I love is hurting. Yet I’ve been the one doing the hurting. I was almost positive that this was the case, but a small part of me hoped that I was wrong. So later that morning, I told Monty what I’d been thinking about, and I asked him what he thought. In his gentle way, he agreed with me. I had been unreasonable. I’d been mean. And I’d been angry. He asked me why.
I told him what I’d realized—that I was angry because I was scared and hurt and didn’t know how to articulate that in a kind and loving way. It’s so much easier to be angry than vulnerable. It’s easier to explode than to say, “I’m afraid that things are changing. I’m scared of losing you. I’m so worried about the state of our relationship that I can’t sleep.” And it’s easier to go off on an angry tirade than to look someone in the eyes and tell them the truth: “I’m hurting. This situation is breaking my heart, piece by piece.” It’s easier to cover these feelings with anger than to hear another person’s heart—especially when I’m the one who keeps breaking it.
I’m admitting now that I’m afraid. That I’m hurt. That change scares me, and my failed efforts to effect change have hurt me. At my recovery meeting last week, we said the Serenity Prayer—words that, by now, I know almost too well to think about. But last week when I said it with the others, I paid attention. I want serenity. I crave peace. And I know how to find it. I just haven’t wanted to do the work and address the hurt and fear I’ve been feeling.
But I’m doing it now. I’m going back to the basics of my faith and believing that God holds my future, with its changes and fears and hurts. That He holds me. That He has enough grace to forgive me—again—and let me start over—again. I have no doubt that the people I’ve hurt will do the same. But I still want to apologize. To tell them how deeply sorry I am for the ways I’ve hurt them. To ask for forgiveness and another chance at getting it right. To say that I’m tired of fighting—I’m laying down my weapons and choosing love. Love and serenity.
God, grant me the serenity
I haven’t known peace for a long time, and I’m so tired of fighting.
to accept the things I cannot change,
To accept is to surrender, and I’m finally ready to give this fight to You.
the courage to change the things I can,
On my own, I’m not brave enough to change. But You empower me.
and the wisdom to know the difference.
I choose to accept; I trust You for change; I’m asking You for wisdom.
Amen.
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Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Emily Dickinson
With prayers for hope and grace.
Aunt Gail–oh, these beautiful words! Such a balm to my soul. Thank you–and thank you for the prayers. Much love to you.
Love this, Renee! Change can be so scary. The older I get, the more change is noticeable. And, as we have often talked about, I wish we could freeze time and keep things as they are. Like you, I will choose love and serenity too!
My Monty–you always choose serenity, and I’m so grateful. Thank you for being willing to tell me when I’m horrible. ❤
Hello Sparrow. Excellent! Well thought out blog. At times in my life, I have deliberately caused pain, hurt through fighting verbally, deliberately trying to get that person Inam engaging to “lash back” at me. Who lnows why, insecurity, fear on my part? Probably. After the fact I would think, “why” didn’t just walk away, take @ dee0 breath, and not hurt someone deliberately. “Let it go”, sto0 the “rant”. I have always known, words do, “cut like a knife”. To argue creates a “ false armour” of protection, against “ being hurt”, I think. How many hours. Days do we waste by getting angry A lot of wasted hours, days. As I have said at times, my Mother’s Words, “Just Pray”, I now do that when I feel “bottled up” in anger. In retrospect, he4 words were “right on”. Sparrow, you definitely are not , “The Lone Ranger” on anger. Etc. But, at least you came to the realization, with helps from Monty. Our opinion counts, but in “constructive, productive, positive” ways. Thanks for today’s blog, another “superlative” one. See ya, TexGen❤️
TexGen–You mentioned insecurity. I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s definitely true. And your sentence about anger wasting hours and days–that hit me hard. I don’t want to waste time being angry. Thank you so much for always giving me perspective and insight. I so appreciate it. ❤
I don’t know if this will be of any use to you, but it’s free and might be worth a try:
https://www.niatv.fit/
Thank you so much for the idea, Mary. I just signed up. I’m open to anything at this point. Thank you.
Love the song!
Lisa–I’m glad! I do, too. I’ve been listening to it all week. ❤
Dear Renee, Change is scary, and I find myself fighting it too, even if it involves something as simple as another chore to add to the days. And I believe you are right — relationship changes are the scariest. We like what is comfortable, what is familiar. Then add the changes to the physical pressures you’ve had, and I have a hard time blaming you for responding in anger. I’m glad, though, for your breakthrough, and that you let the Prince of Peace lead you back to the responses you really desire. May He help you every day to give your physical pain and struggles to Him, and may you know His power and peace filling you, and filling your days. All blessings to you, Lovely Lady.
Heather–thank you for your insight and compassion. And your reminder that I have unlimited access to the Prince of Peace. I do so much want to feel, as you said, “His power and peace filling” me–not fear or hurt. Thank you for the prayers I know you’ve offered on my behalf. And for reading my words. ❤