Embracing Grace: Learning to Heal from Anger and Resentment
Venting our frustrations can be important. The roots of much of my pain were a tangled mess of suppressed grievances and resentments. Anger is an emotion—nothing more, nothing less. It is a complex physiological response to perceived harm. Anger becomes a problem, however, when:
The perceived harm is not real, meaning the "harm" is a result of a misperception rather than an actual threat.
The harm is real but not addressed in a mature, healthy manner, and wounds are both allowed to fester and not properly attended to.
Children who are abused and neglected often fall into a pattern of not addressing anger in healthy, mature ways, a pattern they carry into adulthood. Anger that is not attended to tends to transform into resentment. I used to mistakenly believe that resentment was merely a form of anger, but I’ve learned that resentment and anger are quite different. Resentment is a painful mixture of anger and fear. It combines the anger from being harmed with the fear of having no escape, relief, or justice available to address that harm.
Children growing up in abusive environments often never learn to set appropriate boundaries, assert themselves effectively without force or violence, or communicate their needs properly. Without such a foundation, it can be easy to get lost in a tangled mess of fear—fear of the trespasses of others, fear of our own responses, and the constant pain and rightful anger that arises from feeling continuously abused. This is resentment. It is easily passed down through generations, and healing it is much more complicated than merely venting some frustration.
Sadly, I wasted much of my life searching for an escape from the painful torment of resentment and generational abuse. I have every right to feel angry with those who encouraged me to follow that futile path. Medications were not going to ease the anxiety of living with several family members who would fly into violent rages unpredictably. Medications were not going to ease the depression of living in complete isolation, outcast by all, yet completely mystified as to why or what could be done to redeem myself. But when insurance will only cover a fraction of the cost of therapies known to be helpful, and when the profit margins on drug deals breed the usual blinding greed and arrogance, drugs were the majority of the treatment for much of my adolescence and adulthood.
Ironically, when I followed that treatment to its arguably logical extreme and found a drug that actually worked to dull the pain of my reality, I was shamed ruthlessly. To this day, the consequences and long-term side effects of the drug I chose—alcohol—are widely acknowledged and rightly condemned. The consequences and long-term side effects of the drugs others chose for me, without full informed consent, are spoken of only in hushed, guilty tones.
Anger is a healthy emotional response to such a situation. How I choose to respond to that emotion—through word, thought, and deed—is my right of passage. Shall I tantrum like a child? After years of fumbling, flailing, scrambling, kicking, and screaming, I’ve come to believe wholeheartedly that fighting for peace is absolutely futile. At the end of the day, peace is what I want more than anything: peace of mind, a peaceful home, world peace. Since resentfully submitting to fighters doesn’t bring peace, and actively fighting doesn’t bring peace, I’ve decided to try a bit of grace. The harms I endured were real, and so is the healing I am capable of accomplishing.
I can learn to create healthy boundaries. I can learn to assert myself appropriately, and I can share what I’m learning with others. I can become an example to assist others on their own journey. I can become an example of the peace I want to see in the world.
