Embracing anger: one strategy for protecting me from sadness

Michael’s father is in a care community, suffering from dementia. But his mother is the bigger problem: second-guessing his decisions, struggling to cope at home alone, and asking for his help but persistently refusing to accept it.  

He was reflecting on his situation in our support group meeting last week. “The active emotions of anger and frustration give me a break from my sadness,” he said. The energy he must spend coping with his mother is a distraction from the grief he feels watching his dad decline.

His insight provoked a new line of thinking for me. Could I find relief from my own sadness by nurturing other emotions? Could intentionally despising the symptoms protect me against despair at our suffering?

‘Get angry with it!’

A couple of years ago, Evelyn’s doctor recommended a type of physical therapy designed to help Parkinson’s patients. I remember the therapist working with Evelyn to take off and put on a jacket. “Get angry with it!” he encouraged as she worked to push her arm through a sleeve.

She’s long since forgotten the therapy, but maybe there’s something in it for me. Maybe it’s OK for me to get angry, or at least to use that anger when it bubbles up, by carefully choosing how to direct it.

If I feel frustration about all the accommodations we must make. . . .
If I feel regret for not allowing enough time or not anticipating a problem. . . .
If I forget a detail or duty, again, after telling myself always to remember. . . .

In situations like those and a dozen others, could I do something more productive than stewing while my blood pressure rises? Could I do something more loving than allowing myself to focus on this precious person with the problem instead of the problem itself?

‘I hate you, damn Alzheimer’s!’

Maybe I could try personalizing the diseases and giving free reign to my hatred for them. I think of Wye Huxford’s “Shared Story,” posted here almost two years ago. “I hate you, damn cancer!” he wrote, as his wife was dying in the throes of aggressive chemotherapy.

Maybe I should be so bold, so brash, so angry.

“I hate you, damn Alzheimer’s! You muddle a beautiful brain, preventing its owner from being a force for kindness and goodness and productivity.”

“I hate you, damn Parkinson’s! You’ve transformed our home into something like a hospital ward, with furniture moved, apparatuses purchased, and doors locked, all to protect a lovely person from falling to her ruin.”

It’s easy to believe anger is bad, hatred is wrong, epithets are unnecessary, and a quiet smile is always the right response. But today I’m disavowing such nonsense. I challenge any caregiver never to get angry. It’s not possible.

It’s dangerous if that anger gets directed at the patient. It’s damaging if that anger is suppressed inside the caregiver, ballooning inevitably until it explodes. 

My support group friend has helped me think afresh about anger. I’m going to claim it, use it, unleash it against the mess we’re in.

‘Let not the sun go down . . .’

The Bible says, “Let not the sun go down on your wrath.” It does not say the same wrath may not reappear the next morning. I’m going to acknowledge my fury when it pops up and work on learning how to use it. I won’t let it stay with me through the night, and I won’t let it ruin the next day.

But if I dwell on the sadness of the deterioration we’re facing, I’ll be overwhelmed. Anger, properly handled, can be one more tool to help keep that from happening.

Bulat Silvia photo at istockphoto.com