Anger Armor

I’ve started art journaling again, and I love it. I don’t know why I ever stopped.

One of the pages of the journal is to track moods. If you’re not familiar, it’s simple really. You create a graph with boxes, one for each day of the year. Then you choose a color to represent your moods, i.e. teal blue for an amazing day, pink for a good day, purple for an average day, green for an okay day, etc. Then you color in each day as it passes, tracking your moods and/or experiences. I’ve been doing it for this January and I have to say, most of my days are purple, pink and blue. It’s astounding. Because, when I look at the one I started (but didn’t finish) in 2018, the colors are all over the map, and more frequently, there are browns (stressful) and grays (down right crappy). So, what’s changed?

Well, for starters, I am older. I’ve got more life experience. 2018 was the year I finally decided to learn to love myself. It was what I labeled “the year for me” though it was around mid-March where that seemed to stop for some reason. Perhaps life got in the way. Perhaps I’d still been focussing on resolutions and not guidelines. I mean, 2018 is only five years away, and I’ve grown so much since then. Time is funny that way. Five years can seem so short and yet so long.

I think the major, key factor in why my moods have improved so much, which in turn means I am now a happier person, is because I’ve finally taken of my suit of anger armor. I’ve understood and made my peace with anger.

I was an angry youth, not child. I remember as a child feeling like the world was my oyster and I could do anything. I remember being a huge romantic, thinking the world was this magical place filled with wonderful people who were simply friends I hadn’t met yet. I desperately wanted to share my love and passion with the world, and I wanted to make people happy. I’m not sure why that was the center of my being, making others happy, but it absolutely was.

Though I believed the world to be a magical place, somehow I also understood its darkness. Somehow, I understood it could be scary and lonely, and I never wanted anyone to feel that way. I romanticized the tale of the underdog, firmly believing that the down-trodden just needed love, kindness, a cheerleader, to help make their lives better. Truth is, I still believe that, but I now better understand how to do so while keeping myself safe. But as a child, I walked through the world as though I were invincible.

I remember when I was very young and I would disappear from my mom when we were in public places. One minute I was with her, the next, I was gone. It would drive my mom into a panic, of course. She’d search for me and could almost always find me holding the hand of some strange transient person, or sitting on their lap. I’d be smiling and laughing, either singing with them, or telling them a story. This terrified my mom, and I never understood why. I remember her trying to explain it to me, of course, but I don’t think I really did. I simply learned that I could not behave in such a way because it terrified my mother.

So, for most of my childhood, I befriended the down-trodden, the outcasts, the misfits. Perhaps it was kind of me to do so, but it certainly got me in a lot of trouble. For it’s the down-trodden, the outcasts, the misfits who are uncertain and angry in life and take risks. And I would simply take risks alongside them. Eventually, I got into more than trouble and found myself in dangerous situations. (If you’ve read the excerpts of my memoirs on this blog, split into parts, you’ll know at least one of the situations).

But I think it was even before the rape that I began to feel a lot of anger. And I walked through life justifying all of my anger, often times with things that simply weren’t entirely true. But I believed them. I was angry that school didn’t come easily to me. I was angry that I didn’t have any real friends. I was angry that my love of the arts seemed to isolate me from my peers. I was angry that my brother hated me. I was angry that my dad seemed indifferent. I was angry that I was consistently made to feel as though I was an object of desire to boys and men, even though I felt undesirable. I was angry that there were people in the world so rich they’d never be able to spend it all in one lifetime while others struggled to eat and survive. I was angry that my sister was a more successful actor than I was. I was angry that no one wanted to take the time to really get to know and understand me, even my family. It felt as though I hated them all, as though I hated the world because I believed the world was such an awful place. I let the anger consume me, and anger is a powerful emotion, one of the strongest, in my opinion. It can feel safe and comfortable, though I’m not certain why.

Our brains can convince us that if we remain in anger, we are taking care of ourselves. As though if we were to remain there, we’d suddenly have a great shield protecting us. I let it alter my shape, my mind, hinder my growth, like I’d put on some sort of armor that didn’t fit and forced my body to mold to it. And that’s what it felt like, armor. The issue is, you wear a suit of anger armor long enough, and you can forget what it feels like to have fresh happiness tickle your skin. I truly believed my anger was going to protect me - from harm, from pain, from hurt. But it didn’t. If anything, it helped to create more of it, but I couldn’t see it.

I have this recurring dream where I’m standing on the shore, and the sea is chaotic and dangerous. The waves are fairly large and flowing in all directions, and there is a thick layer of fog resting on the sea, making it impossible to see into it. I can hear yelling and screaming, typically of one person, struggling in the water. Though I can’t see them, I know who it is. I’ve had this dream where it is a stranger I met that week who was unkind to me. I’ve also had it where it is my brother, my sister, a friend, my husband, or my child. I’ve even had it when it was me.

For years, I had this dream not understanding its meaning. I would wake up terrified, or terribly sad, depending on who was struggling in the water. I knew it was my subconscious warning me I was worried about someone, but now, I’m certain that beyond the worry, it was my subconscious teaching me about anger. You see, anyone else in the dream was reflected as they were in my life at that time, but at times it would be my younger self in the dream, struggling in the water.

When my husband and I were dating, very early on, I was still a very angry person. Somehow, he saw past it and found someone worthy of love. I think about that now and it doesn’t surprise me. He’s a kind and good person, and I mean, I’ve done it plenty of times with others, why shouldn’t I be lucky enough to have someone do it for me? But I didn’t understand it then. I didn’t think I was worthy. When we started dating, we were spending every night together. I found comfort in having him sleep next to me. But of course, at some point, he had to go home. I remember it feeling like a slap in the face. I was so hurt and so angry at his abandoning me (which is crazy). I’m fairly certain I treated him poorly the rest of that day. And it wasn’t the first time. I remember another time we were out and about in the world and I was angry, though I couldn’t discern why. I remember fighting with my brain to allow me to smile, but I couldn’t. I’d gotten so used to the anger armor, my body had formed to its shape and wouldn’t allow me to even smile. He’d spent a good deal of time that day trying to make me happy so I would smile, but I wouldn’t let him. How sad is that? Anyway, one of the first nights we spent apart, I was angry for his leaving, was when I recall having that dream - myself on the shore, hearing my younger self struggling in the water. I woke up terrified, alone, and cried. I called him and was bawling. I hadn’t had time to put the suit of armor back on and was vulnerable and scared, and I asked him - “Why are you with me? I’m so miserable, and angry. Why do you want to be with me?” And I remember him simply saying, “because I love you”. It didn’t make sense to me, but it was such a comfort and wonder to hear. I swear, if we’d listened hard enough, we could’ve heard the first >chink< in the weakening of my anger armor. His love, unending support, and continued patience in allowing me to realize and recognize it was safe to remove my anger armor is a large part of why I’ve made it as far as I have today.

I meet people everyday who seem to be stuck in some sort of anger armor. I can see it in the way they treat others, their impatience with other drivers on the road, people in line at the store, or staff they encounter at a restaurant. It often becomes very clear when discussing politics or belief systems, no matter where they lie. And most times, those wearing it, don’t even feel or see it. They justify it with ‘logic’ they’ve seen or read on social media, or the news. But I think, deep down, they aren’t actually angry at the other driver, or person, not even the politician or movement. I think they’re scared, or hurt. Of or from what, I don’t know. But I believe anger is more than an emotion. It is a gate. It stops you from continuing on your path to move forward and grow because it wants to warn you - something is amiss. It wants you to stop what you’re doing and listen. Listen to why you are hurt, or scared, or whatever it may be, and learn from it. Listen and respond by creating healthy boundaries to support us should we come across that hurt or fear again. Anger is the gate stopping us, encouraging us to listen and reflect on that anger to learn from it. That is the key.

I think now, I finally have my keys. I know now, I listen to my anger, rather than put the anger armor back on, I wait and reflect on why I think I need it. What am I really angry at? - is a question I reflect on a lot. And so far, 100% of the time, I’ve not needed the armor, I’ve just needed to process a hurt or fear.

I still have that dream from time to time, but I’m no longer in the water. I’m the strong person standing ashore, feeling the tickle of the sea breeze on my skin. Perhaps now, it means I’m the lighthouse to help guide those lost at sea.

Ⓒ January 2023. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.