Making peace with anger

I just finished writing a piece about domestic abuse, and it shook me to the core.

I have a history of domestic emotional abuse, and it was my father.

The experts call it coercive control.

It was manipulation, making me an adult when I was not ready, and it was plain torture.

Until I escaped him by graduating college with my multiple degrees, working independently, and getting married.

Abuse was something my father did because he couldn’t have helped it.

I have forgiven him and accepted him for what he has done.

(We had that conversation before he died.)

Papi was a product of his culture, his patriarchal, Chinese-Filipino upbringing.

In his social milieu, it was the norm to treat women as inferior to men. (To some degree, this is still the truth for a lot of Chinoy women like me.)

When I got married, I systematically obliterated my Chinese surname, “Chua”.

I always, always use my married surname, “Heger”.

Not particularly because I have subbed one “owner” for another, but because I have renamed myself.

I am not my father’s property. I am now part of another family. My husband’s family.

It was a re-definition. In business terms, it was a re-branding.

I am very much happy with my new family.

Though I am still quite sensitive when somebody is angry.

I am paralyzed when somebody shouts; I fall into pieces when people get angry. I don’t even think I am that great handling my own anger.

With this COVID-19 lockdown, I have had no choice but to face incidents where there is some kind of conflict in the house.

Some expressions of anger.

A few days ago, I had to deal with someone’s anger, and you know what?

I realized:

Anger can be expressed in a healthy way. Even if the delivery of that is a shout, it does not always lead to domestic violence, emotional violence, or coercion.

Someone can be angry with you, but you can work it out.

Not everyone who gets angry with you is out to abuse you.

Paraphrase that: not everyone who gets angry WITH ME is out to abuse ME.

Sometimes, there is a genuine reason, and yes, sometimes that means the anger is justified. (And I have to make necessary corrections.)

What I am saying is that at near-40, I am making peace with anger.

Another realization: Poring over academic texts on domestic violence had the same effect on me as reading flowery literature.

At the same time, writing an academic essay is just as valid as writing a literary piece.

But then again, I am an academic writer. (I’m a bore.) I can’t help being who I am.

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here

spot_imgspot_img

Latest

The writer that I want to be (2021)

I have been reflecting on what kind of writer I want to be. I think it is important to know what I really want,...

The Hausfrau with a BATNA

I’ve been married twenty years. Sometimes, because I’m bad with numbers and therefore dates, I forget the exact day and year. No matter. Today...

A broken Coursera taught me discernment

Several months ago, I enrolled in a Coursera course called Miracles of Human Language: An Introduction to Linguistics. It didn’t go down well. I chose...

Goodbye, Monkey Year

It’s the Chinese New Year today. I learned yesterday that I failed to enter the 56th Silliman Writer’s Workshop. Oh, there is always next year. I...

Cleaning up my unsorted past

It's been six days since I last saw the rat. A month ago, the pesky rodent invaded my home and nearly cost me my...