Rage and Peace
September 16, 2008
I have been procrastinating all night. I don't want to do this book. Don't want to. Which means that I must. It is HEALING RAGE. When I first saw the title, I thought Healing was an adjective, not a verb. Distance, that's what I do.
I often say that the right book crosses my path just when it is the perfect time.
I don't get angry. Not at all. The first glimmer of possible anger, I address it, deflect it, and curse myself for what I must have done wrong. My therapist says it is time to let the rage out.
"What rage?" I ask.
My new massage therapist says my liver is tight with anger. Unexpressed.
Anger is Danger. See the words! They are the same!
The walls of my childhood home shook with anger. The walls bore the holes left by my stepfather's fists and my mother's hips from when she fell after drinking. His middle name was Fiore. For years, I thought it was Fury. When I discovered that Fiore meant Flower, I figured that was what made him so angry, having a middle name like that. I forgive them both everything.
It was my fault.
Being raped by Fury when I was four, five, six and older, was my fault.
Being loyal to my real dad, which made Fury angry enough to rape me, was my fault.
Seeing my real dad beat up by Fury and sent away forever, was my fault.
I open the book and see that Ruth King says trauma gives birth to rage, and we hold rage in our bodies. Types of trauma that give birth to rage: emotional neglect (like my mother not protecting me and trying to kill herself?), verbal abuse (like Fury yelling obscenities?), loss (my real dad gone after I was six), physical violence and sexual abuse (like every day.)
King wants the rage child to be expressed. Remember that version of Aladdin when he let the genie out of the bottle? That was one pissed-off genie.
I have a punching bag that I bought a few months ago -- I take probably a dozen swipes at it at a time, then walk away. I do kick-boxing once a week! I dance! My body can express some of these emotions, but Ruth King also suggests meditation, creating a stillness practice, and recording dreams. The energy that is trapped in rage, she says, needs compassion to be released.
My therapist believes it is most effective if someone caring bears witness to the rage. I haven't allowed that yet. Way too frightening. That little rage child, the one wearing pigtails and sucking her thumb -- a stopper for these trapped emotions, peers out with wide eyes. "You want me to do what?"
I left her behind. King would classify the adult me as Distracted -- I stay busy -- and Devoted -- I am intuitive, caring and a perfectionist. That's the Flight version. There's Fight -- Dominance and Defiance. And there's Shrink -- Dependence and Depression.
I know that I am Transcending The Trauma. Better boundaries. Less blaming myself. And believing that that little girl with the pigtails was one amazingly strong soul who deserves to express her true feelings. All of them.
Dancing does it. Writing works. Lighting a candle enlivens me. All of me.
I have been procrastinating all night. I don't want to do this book. Don't want to. Which means that I must. It is HEALING RAGE. When I first saw the title, I thought Healing was an adjective, not a verb. Distance, that's what I do.
I often say that the right book crosses my path just when it is the perfect time.
I don't get angry. Not at all. The first glimmer of possible anger, I address it, deflect it, and curse myself for what I must have done wrong. My therapist says it is time to let the rage out.
"What rage?" I ask.
My new massage therapist says my liver is tight with anger. Unexpressed.
Anger is Danger. See the words! They are the same!
The walls of my childhood home shook with anger. The walls bore the holes left by my stepfather's fists and my mother's hips from when she fell after drinking. His middle name was Fiore. For years, I thought it was Fury. When I discovered that Fiore meant Flower, I figured that was what made him so angry, having a middle name like that. I forgive them both everything.
It was my fault.
Being raped by Fury when I was four, five, six and older, was my fault.
Being loyal to my real dad, which made Fury angry enough to rape me, was my fault.
Seeing my real dad beat up by Fury and sent away forever, was my fault.
I open the book and see that Ruth King says trauma gives birth to rage, and we hold rage in our bodies. Types of trauma that give birth to rage: emotional neglect (like my mother not protecting me and trying to kill herself?), verbal abuse (like Fury yelling obscenities?), loss (my real dad gone after I was six), physical violence and sexual abuse (like every day.)
King wants the rage child to be expressed. Remember that version of Aladdin when he let the genie out of the bottle? That was one pissed-off genie.
I have a punching bag that I bought a few months ago -- I take probably a dozen swipes at it at a time, then walk away. I do kick-boxing once a week! I dance! My body can express some of these emotions, but Ruth King also suggests meditation, creating a stillness practice, and recording dreams. The energy that is trapped in rage, she says, needs compassion to be released.
My therapist believes it is most effective if someone caring bears witness to the rage. I haven't allowed that yet. Way too frightening. That little rage child, the one wearing pigtails and sucking her thumb -- a stopper for these trapped emotions, peers out with wide eyes. "You want me to do what?"
I left her behind. King would classify the adult me as Distracted -- I stay busy -- and Devoted -- I am intuitive, caring and a perfectionist. That's the Flight version. There's Fight -- Dominance and Defiance. And there's Shrink -- Dependence and Depression.
I know that I am Transcending The Trauma. Better boundaries. Less blaming myself. And believing that that little girl with the pigtails was one amazingly strong soul who deserves to express her true feelings. All of them.
Dancing does it. Writing works. Lighting a candle enlivens me. All of me.
Labels: abuse, HEALING RAGE, peace., rape, Ruth King, therapist, transcending the trauma, violence
posted by Diana Page Jordan @ 11:22 PM
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