Triggers

by David Richo

  All of us sometimes feel unsafe. Total safety is also an attempt at permanence. Grieving our losses, allowing our uncertainties and insecurities, escorts us to the all-liberating yes. Once we truly and radically accept the teaching on impermanence, grieving becomes a spiritual practice.

  The story about Aeneas took place in the temple of the queen of the gods while Aeneas was being given hospitality by Dido, the queen of Carthage. Thus, the experience of impermanence happens for the hero in the context of comfort from the divine feminine and from feminine powers. He felt his pain in the arms of empowering feminine forces. This is where we too find a holding environment in our own grief. In the supporting and strengthening embrace of the divine feminine we find it easier to say yes to the way things are, to the endings no matter how abrupt, to the losses no matter how unfair.

  Aeneas noticed that there are tears everywhere. Once we see that the sadness in us is in all of Mother Nature too, we find the deepest solace of all—accompaniment by all that is. That sense of intimate oneness marks the end of our isolation, of the isolation that makes a loss so terrifying. Instead we know we are all in this vale of tears together, all of humanity, all of nature. Somehow that makes our yes to endings and changes more bearable and we pronounce it not with a sullen frown but with a smiling shrug, even a reverent bow.

  After each seeming death within my mind or heart, love has returned to re-create hope and to restore life. It has, at its best, made the inherent sadness of life bearable, and its beauty manifest. It has, inexplicably and savingly, provided not only cloak but lantern for the darker seasons and grimmer weather.

  —Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind

  FIVE

  THE ANGER TRIGGER

  My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,

  Or else my heart, concealing it, will break.

  —Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew

  We suddenly blow up at someone. Our partner—or we—engage in angry outbursts. They are touched off by a minor issue. We realize the immediate situation does not account for the bigness of the reaction. We are in the battleground of triggers.

  “Anger” is defined in the dictionary as irritation at unfairness. We react with a distressed feeling, anger, when we are triggered by something that we consider unjust or unfair to us or others. The feeling of anger is normal. It is appropriate to be triggered into an angry reaction when something that we consider inequitable is happening. It is up to us, as we shall see in this chapter, to show our anger in ways that are nonviolent and in control. We want our bid for fairness to be heard. This can only happen when the person we are interacting with can hear our feeling without feeling intimidated. To communicate safely, especially in our close relationships, we call on our resources of respect, self-control, and appropriate expression of heated feelings in either direction. This takes practice, which we will explore in this chapter.

  Remember that the prefrontal cortex regulates emotion and adjusts it to efficient decision-making. The amygdala goes online when we are triggered into anger. It scans the landscape for threat and activates an anger—or fear—reaction so that we can deal with it effectively. Since the amygdala is also our repository of early feeling-laden memories, we might feel a present threat with the same impact it had when we were powerless children. When this happens, our cognitive processes cannot easily connect triggers to resources, unless we find the mindful calm that anger usually annuls. We find our resources when our mind is mindful again. We can learn that skill.

  IS IT ANGER OR ABUSE?

  We can distinguish healthy anger—a feeling—from abuse—a theatrical display, a tantrum, losing our temper. The first is always in control; the second goes out of control. It may be hard to believe that we can keep our cool when we are angry, but it is very doable when we practice mindfulness in our daily life. We become adept at experiencing whatever happens, no matter how upsetting, with calm awareness and clarity.

  We are responsive to injustice on a bodily and feeling level—that is, we become angry. But we can do so within limits that are assertive toward others rather than aggressive toward them. We express our truth about what they have done in respectful ways. That is assertiveness. We do not cross the line and come at them with threats, name-calling, derision, hostility. That is aggression—what we call abuse.

  We sometimes meet up with anger from others, sometimes abuse. Anger, like all feelings, is a form of communication. The abuser, on the other hand, wants to dump on us—not engage in dialogue. Anger informs us, so we greet it with rapt attention. It opens us to dialogue. Abuse is meant to silence us and shut us down. In the assertive anger style, we treat those whose behavior has aroused us as peers, not as targets. Anger honors equality. Abuse treats others as objects of wrath.

  We might think we fear anger; actually, we fear abuse. Healthy anger will grab our attention so we participate in the communication. We will listen intently because an authentic feeling engages both our limbic system and our prefrontal cortex. When we are bombarded by abuse that masquerades as anger, only our limbic system responds. Then we are on guard. We rightly fear we might be in danger, that violence might erupt. That sense of threat is the result of intimidation. In this instance it is not really anger coming at us; it is a strategy meant to frighten us. We are triggered into fear and on the defensive. This is because abuse is adversarial and includes ill will, an intent to harm. Anger maintains goodwill while saying “Ouch!” to which we might say “Oops!” This is fearless on both sides, and from such sincere sharing comes conversing—not contesting.

  Anger declares the impact of what someone has said or done, declares how we have been triggered by him. Abuse bullies the other rather than opens a portal to more understanding about how our behavior has landed. That understanding does not matter to an abuser; all that matters is his getting his rage out.

  In the abusive style, we blame the other; in healthy anger, we take responsibility for our feeling. We see the one who triggered us as a catalyst, as all triggers are, rather than a cause, what triggers are not. We can experience it this way because our anger is directed at what happened, not at how our inflated ego was punctured. Abuse is about an indignant ego; anger is about how we are feeling wounded. Yet, since bruising can be a hazard in any interaction, we can take it as a given for all humans. We are then not ego-indignant and fit to be tied; we are hurt but still able to be open. The inflated ego believes itself entitled to full justification, a style that justifies abuse. The angered healthy ego seeks not self-justification but rather a fair hearing. We are not self-righteous but self-expressive.

  The arrogant ego feels compelled to save face by getting back at the one who triggered his wrath. This is a form of alienation, separation, driving a wedge between himself and us. It is the opposite of our natural inclination in evolution, to move toward more and more connection. The abuser moves against others; the angry person moves toward the other. The angry person wants reconciliation, not punishment of the other. The goal is forgiveness, not smoldering resentment. This is why anger can coexist with love but abuse cannot. In anger, we are upset but the connection endures; in abuse, we are upset and the connection is broken. Anger is the shortest feeling; it rises, crests, and reduces within minutes. Abuse, fueled by revenge and grudge, can go on for a lifetime.

  Both anger and abuse include grief. In each instance, we are sad and incensed by what has triggered us. In healthy anger, we declare not only how livid we are but also how hurt and sad we are. An abuser is afraid of such vulnerability. She will hide her grief, deny it, mask it with intimidating rage. How puzzling that we use what looks like anger to evade the authentic expression of anger. In healthy anger, we address, process, and resolve our grievance with someone who has triggered us. In abuse, we refuse to do that, preferring a feud.

  Although anger and abuse can look a lot alike—for instance, the red face is the same in both—they have some distinct differe
nces: A raised voice shows emphasis in anger. Its purpose is to garner our attention so we can respond. In abuse we hear a screaming voice that is meant to frighten us. The gestures that go with the words in anger are dramatic but in abuse they are menacing or physically invasive. They are not ways of showing a feeling bodily; they are bodily posturings and can even come to blows. Finally, implicit in anger is a request that we change. In the dark side of anger, abuse, we hear a demand that we change or else.

  The following outline shows differences between anger and abuse at a glance.

  THE ANGRY EGO

  We have examined how the ego is aroused, triggered by a perceived slight. Now we can look more closely at how the ego is implicated in anger and abuse.

  The healthy ego is the mind-set in us that assesses correctly and acts with forethought so that our goals in life can be fulfilled. The inflated ego is the mind-set that operates on arrogance and entitlement. When that is afoot we might be met with abuse rather than healthy anger.

  Anger is displeasure at injustice. Yet, beyond the justice issue, we might also react with anger when we become frustrated. Perhaps we expect to reach a goal and do not. Or we expect a reward and it is not forthcoming. We are displeased that we did not receive what we believed we were entitled to. This kind of frustration can be part of a healthy ego response. That happens when we feel the frustration, grieve it, try to deal with it, seek a positive outcome. But when the inflated ego is frustrated it can become mean-spirited—armed and dangerous. In that frame of mind we might turn on those implicated in our frustration. We might blame others for it. We then are expressing not anger but abuse. Anyone will find that frustration-driven approach scary. The fear in that instance incites the other to run. This is often his wisest course of action since abuse can’t be reasoned with.

  The inflated ego fears losing face because that would result in shame, a feeling it cannot tolerate. Behind the bluster, bravado, and swagger of ego is fear of vulnerability. Most people imagine that anger is the most dangerous feeling to meet up with in others. Actually, it is fear that is most dangerous, because fear is more likely to lead to a reckless reaction—the kind of reaction that becomes abuse. When an ego-entitled person is frustrated in his demands, he is incensed and believes he is justified in showing wrath and even violence. He turns on the one he sees as the culprit with abuse and intimidation. As an example, a driver feels fear because of the immediate sense of danger when he is cut off in traffic. This turns into road rage and he might react in a way that endangers or harms the other driver, or any other drivers, or himself. Road rage is a reaction to the trigger of a perceived insult. It is, in effect, an ego feeling intimidated and taking revenge.

  Healthy anger, on the other hand, leads to short eruption and then closure. When we look into the eyes of an abuser, we do not see anger; we see fear. Ultimately, the inflated ego has to be in control because if she does not get what she wants she will have to feel sadness. The prospect of such vulnerability is terrifying. This is the real fear under the hatchet she aims in our direction.

  The inflated ego has a sense of entitlement that is beyond the ordinary sense of rights. The healthy ego believes it has rights and is ready to stand up for them. These rights include respect for the given of life that we don’t always get what we want. An adult knows that life is not always fair. The inflated ego demands fairness no matter what. An adult has accepted the fact that people are not always loyal and loving. The ego-inflated person demands that everyone be loyal and loving to him—though he is not obliged to be that way toward others. An adult knows that anything can happen to anyone. Ego inflation insists on an exemption from that given—from all of the givens of ordinary life, ultimately. That is what is meant by ego entitlement.

  WHY WE FEAR OTHERS’ ANGER

  As we have been seeing throughout this book, triggers and reactions are two sides of one coin. We can be triggered into anger: An experience of unfairness can be the stimulus; anger can be our reaction. We might also be triggered by anger; then our reaction may take the form of placating or avoiding. Both of these are related to fear. What is it about an angry face that scares us? Here are some possible reasons for such a trigger:

  In our childhood we might have seen only abuse. This became synonymous in our minds—amygdala—with anger. This can happen when we had no model of healthy, non-harming anger. If we suffer post-traumatic stress from past abusive experience, we may now be on high alert for the slightest frown that we believe may erupt into danger or harm. We might become people-pleasers in such an instance. We resort to placating rather than speaking truth to power. We are thus afraid of others’ anger and even more afraid to show our own anger.

  Anger feels like opposition. This is the equivalent of distancing, separation. Since we are social animals, we fear being exiled from the herd. We fear being left on the hillside while the herd continues on its journey. People fear abandonment more than any other psychological predicament. Exclusion means not surviving. We might read anger, no matter how sanely and safely expressed, as placing us in serious peril of isolation. Then to please is to live; to displease is to die.

  We have seen irritation magnify itself and erupt into abuse. We may sometimes have been the victims of it. We may, therefore, now do all we can to smooth the waters, to concede, smile winsomely, attempt to curry favor. We might then grovel, be at the beck and call of the person whose anger terrifies us. We lose our sense of our own power and self-respect. We then become passive yes-persons, rather than strong sailors who take the chance of rocking the boat.

  We may hold back from expressing our anger because we fear that if we do express it the other person will not like us anymore. We fail to see that healthy anger ultimately brings people closer together. It is only abuse that drives us apart. Real anger coexists with and enhances closeness. When we can share our displeasure we are sharing our hearts. We are allowing the full range of human feeling, all legitimate in any relationship.

  Fear of anger evokes a trust issue. We may fear others’ anger because it leads to our feeling unsafe and insecure. When someone comes at us with anger, we want it to happen in an atmosphere of safety and security. In a healthy relationship we can say, “Let’s find out what scares each of us and present our anger at one another in ways that avoid that pitfall. Let’s assure one another of our safe and secure connection no matter how angry we become.”

  Some people are afraid to show us their anger directly. They might then engage in passive aggression. They do little—or big—things that upset us. Examples are being late for something important to us, forgetting an appointment altogether, making us jealous by their attention to someone who seems like a rival.

  When someone shows authentic anger, we feel safe so we stay put: “You are angry now and I will hear you out.” But when someone is abusive, our healthy response is to leave the premises: “It seems to me that you have crossed the line and are coming at me aggressively so I will leave now and come back when you calm down so we can have a useful conversation.”

  We can choose an alternative response to leaving if we are up to it. By way of illustration, I offer a memorable example from the sixties era when I worked at an Italian neighborhood counseling center in Boston: A surly guy who had come in off the street was using intimidating words and gestures toward Anthony, a local athlete who helped out at our center. Anthony had no training in counseling, but he responded to the visitor’s behavior in a way that was so impressive I still remember his three sentences: “Hey man, I don’t want you coming at me that way,” he said. “You’re scaring me, and I don’t like to be scared. Just tell me what you want.”

  Over the years I have deconstructed Anthony’s words: The first sentence sets boundaries without aggressiveness or judgment. The second shows a vulnerability that nonetheless includes strength. The third invites the other person to express his need more appropriately.

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p; I see these three elements—limit-setting, vulnerability, invitation to express a need—as a wholesome combination of assertiveness and nondefensiveness. I suggest this approach now as a healthy response to rage if we have built our assertiveness skills sufficiently to practice it.

  Note that Anthony was triggered into fear but did not react either with a bantam ego or with placating. He responded by using (1) nonthreatening directness, (2) not backing down, and (3) creating an opening for effective communication. We need fortitude—and self-respect—for a practice like this. We increase our fortitude and self-respect when we attempt it.

  I complete my story by saying that the visitor to our center looked back at Anthony in silence for a long few seconds. Then he did indeed ask for what he wanted, respectfully. It is not a given that such a response from an aggressor is guaranteed. But others’ responses to us become less weighty when we feel so good about ourselves for having acted admirably.

  If anger that dwells in our heart lies neglected and turns instead to our external foes, we try to destroy them. Seeing that this action is not the solution, let us muster the forces of mercy and love, turn inwards and tame the wild flow of our mind-stream. This is the way of the Bodhisattva.