Dance of Anger: A Woman's Guide to Changing the Patterns of Intimate Relationships

by Harriet Lerner

  And so, Katy had some “family work” to do. She contacted a wide representation of family members—especially the women—and learned firsthand about their experience and perspective as they grappled with issues not unlike her own. From living family members, she learned more about those who had died, including her mother. In so doing, Katy was able to see her problem with her father in its broader context.

  Katy discovered that women in her family tended to fall into two opposite camps: those who, like her mother, made large personal sacrifices to care for aging parents and grandparents; and those who, like her mother’s sister, Aunt Peggy, stuck their heads in the sand as aging family members became unable to care for themselves. Within these camps were several warring factions. Katy’s mother, for example, did not speak to her sister for several years following their mother’s death, because she felt that Peggy had not pitched in her share of the caretaking. From Peggy’s perspective Katy’s mother had made unilateral and unwise decisions about their mother’s care. Caring for elderly parents had been such a loaded issue in the previous generations that it was predictable that Katy would have a hard time finding a middle ground, and striking a comfortable balance between her responsibility for herself and her responsibility to her father.

  As Katy connected to her family and gathered information, she felt calmer about her situation and was able to think about new options for herself with her father, where before she had been convinced that none were possible. There were no easy answers or painless solutions. Katy once summarized her dilemma this way: “No matter how long I’m in therapy, I’m still going to feel guilty if I say no to my father. But if I keep saying yes, I’m going to feel angry. So, if I’m going to change, I guess I will just have to learn to live with some guilt for a while.” This is exactly what Katy did: She lived with some guilt, which did not prove fatal and which eventually subsided.

  The specific changes that Katy made with her father may seem small and unimpressive to an outsider. She decided to have dinner with him twice rather than three times a week, and told him that she would shop for him on Saturday rather than on an “on-call” basis during the week. These were the only changes that she initiated, but she held to them and they made a big difference in her life. Soon thereafter, her father initiated a change of his own: He became good friends with an older woman in his neighborhood and they would talk for several hours each day. Katy felt reassured but also disquieted by this event. She began to realize how much her preoccupation with her father had organized her life and helped her to avoid confronting her isolation from her own peers. She also learned that she was far more skilled at giving help than asking for it.

  The specifics of what Katy decided to do and not do for her father is the least important part of her story. Katy’s solution would not necessarily be the right one for you or me. What is more significant is the work that she did in her own family which gave her a greater sense of connectedness to her roots and of her separateness and clarity as an individual. Now she could better use her anger as a springboard for thinking about her situation rather than remaining a victim of it. And as we will see, thinking clearly about the questions “What am I responsible for?” and “What am I not responsible for?” is a difficult challenge for all of us.

  WHO’S RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT

  The Trickiest Anger Question

  While attending a conference in New York one spring, I rode by bus to the Metropolitan Museum with two colleagues. I had lost my old familiarity with the city, and my companions, Celia and Janet, felt like foreigners in a strange land. Perhaps as a result of our “big-city” anxiety, we reminded the bus driver—once too often—to announce our stop. In a sudden and unexpected fury, he launched into a vitriolic attack that turned heads throughout the crowded bus. The three of us stood in stunned silence.

  Later, over coffee, we shared our personal reactions to this incident. Celia felt mildly depressed. She was reminded of her abusive ex-husband and this particular week was the anniversary of their divorce. Janet reacted with anger, which seemed to dissipate as she drummed up clever retorts to the driver’s outburst and hilarious revenge fantasies. My own reaction was nostalgia. I had been feeling homesick for New York and almost welcomed the contrast to the midwestern politeness to which I had become accustomed. It was a New York City “happening” that I could take back to Topeka, Kansas.

  Suppose we reflect briefly on this incident. We might all agree that the bus driver behaved badly. But is he also responsible for the reactions of three women? Did he cause Celia’s depression and Janet’s anger? Did he make me feel nostalgic for my past? And if one of us had reacted to this man’s surliness by jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge that night, should he be held accountable for a death? Or, viewed from another perspective, were we responsible for his outburst to begin with?

  It is tempting to view human transactions in simple cause-and-effect terms. If we are angry, someone else caused it. Or, if we are the target of someone else’s anger, we must be to blame; or, alternately—if we are convinced of our innocence—we may conclude that the other person has no right to feel angry. The more our relationships in our first family are fused (meaning the togetherness force is so powerful that there is a loss of the separate “I’s” within the “we”), the more we learn to take responsibility for other people’s feelings and reactions and blame them for our own. (“You always make Mom feel guilty.” “You give Dad headaches.” “She caused her husband to drink.”) Likewise, family members assume responsibility for causing other people’s thoughts, feelings, and behavior.

  Human relationships, however, don’t work that way—or at least not very well. We begin to use our anger as a vehicle for change when we are able to share our reactions without holding the other person responsible for causing our feelings, and without blaming ourselves for the reactions that other people have in response to our choices and actions. We are responsible for our own behavior. But we are not responsible for other people’s reactions; nor are they responsible for ours. Women often learn to reverse this order of things: We put our energy into taking responsibility for other people’s feelings, thoughts, and behavior and hand over to others responsibility for our own. When this happens, it becomes difficult, if not impossible, for the old rules of a relationship to change.

  To illustrate the point, let’s return to Katy’s problem with her widowed father, whom she initially described as excessively demanding and guilt-inducing. If Katy perceives her father as unilaterally causing her anger and/or guilt, she is at a dead end. She will feel helpless and powerless because she cannot change him. Similarly, if Katy takes responsibility for causing her father’s feelings and reactions, she is also stuck. Why? Because if Katy does make a change in the status quo, her father will become emotionally reactive to her new behavior. If Katy then feels responsible for causing his reactions, she may reinstate the old pattern in order to protect her father (and herself) from uncomfortable feelings and to safeguard the predictable sameness of the relationship. (“My father got so angry and crazy when I said no that there was just nothing I could do.”) The situation is then defined as hopeless.

  Why is the question “Who is responsible for what?” such a puzzle for women? Women in particular have been discouraged from taking responsibility for solving our own problems, determining our own choices, and taking control of the quality and direction of our own lives. As we learn to relinquish responsibility for the self, we are prone to blame others for failing to fill up our emptiness or provide for our happiness—which is not their job. At the same time, however, we may feel responsible for just about everything that goes on around us. We are quick to be blamed for other people’s problems and pain and quick to accept the verdict of guilty. We also, in the process, develop the belief that we can avert problems if only we try hard enough. Indeed, guilt and self-blame are a “woman’s problem” of epidemic proportion. A colleague tells the story of pausing on a ski slope to admire the view, only to be knocked down by a care
less skier who apparently did not notice her. “I’m s-o-r-r-y,” she reflexively yelled after him from her prone position as he whizzed on by.

  In this chapter we will see how confusion about “Who is responsible for what?” is one source of nonproductive self-blaming and other-blaming, as well as a roadblock to changing our situation. How can we learn to take more responsibility for the self and less for the thoughts, feelings, and behavior of others? At this point, you should be clearer on the subject than when you started out, but let’s continue to try our hand at sorting out the elements of this perplexing question. Remember—assuming responsibility for the self means not only clarifying the “I” but also observing and changing our part in the patterns that keep us stuck. In this chapter we will be looking carefully at the overfunctioning-underfunctioning patterns in which we all participate.

  A CRISIS AT MIDNIGHT

  Jane and Stephanie have lived together for eight years and have raised a German shepherd who is a much-loved member of their household. One evening the dog woke them in the middle of the night and was obviously quite ill. Stephanie thought that the situation was serious enough to warrant an immediate call to the vet. Jane insisted that it could wait till morning. She accused Stephanie of being excessively worried and overreactive.

  When they awoke the next morning, their dog’s condition had worsened. When the veterinarian examined him, she said, “You should have called me immediately. Your dog could have died.” Stephanie was furious at Jane. “If anything had happened,” she said, “you would have been to blame!”

  What is your perspective on this situation?

  How would you react if you were in Stephanie’s shoes at this point?

  How do you view the responsibility of each party in contributing to Stephanie’s anger?

  We may empathize with Stephanie’s anger, but she is nonetheless confused about who is responsible for what. Let’s analyze the situation in more detail.

  It is Jane’s responsibility to clarify her beliefs and take action in accord with them. She did this. It was her opinion that the dog did not need immediate medical attention and so she did not call the doctor. Stephanie, too, is responsible for clarifying her beliefs and acting upon them. She did not do this. She was worried that the dog might need immediate attention and still she did not call the vet.

  I am not suggesting that Stephanie should not feel angry with Jane. If she is angry, she is angry. She may be angry that Jane put down her fears, minimized her concerns, disqualified her perception of reality, or acted like a know-it-all. Nonetheless, it is Stephanie, not Jane, who has the ultimate responsibility for what Stephanie decides to do or not to do.

  “But You Don’t Know Jane!”

  “The reason I didn’t call,” Stephanie explained later, “is that Jane would never have let me hear the end of it if I was wrong. If I had woken the vet up in the middle of the night for nothing, Jane would have been on my case for weeks and she’d have one more reason to label me a neurotic worrier. I love Jane, but you don’t know how difficult she can be! She is so sure of herself that it makes me question my own opinions.” In this formulation, Stephanie continues to blame Jane for her (Stephanie’s) behavior.

  Of course, if Stephanie does begin to assert her own self, Jane may have an intense reaction—especially if Jane has operated as the dominant partner whenever decisions had to be made. But if Stephanie can stick to her position without emotionally distancing or escalating tensions further, chances are that over time Jane will manage her own feelings and reactions just fine.

  What are the steps we can take to translate our anger into a clear sense of personal responsibility that will result in more functional relationships with others? Some steps for Stephanie are: observation, clarifying the pattern, and gathering data.

  OBSERVATION

  Imagine that you are in Stephanie’s shoes and feeling angry—not just about the dog incident but also about the relationship pattern that this incident brought to light. What might be your next step?

  The first step in the direction of gaining greater clarity about who is responsible for what is to begin to carefully observe the sequences of interaction that lead up to our feeling angry or emotionally intense. For example, Stephanie might observe that the pattern around decision-making often goes like this:

  A situation occurs (in this case, a sick dog) that requires a decision. Stephanie tends to respond first by voicing a rather tentative opinion. Jane then states her own opinion, which may be different, in a supremely confident manner. Stephanie then begins to doubt her initial opinion, or simply concludes that “it’s not worth the fight.” In either case, she defers to Jane. Often this pattern works fine for both of them and things remain calm. But when anxiety and stress are high (as in the present example), Stephanie becomes angry with Jane if the outcome of Jane’s decision-making is not to her liking. Stephanie then either withdraws from Jane or criticizes her decision. If she does the latter, a fight ensues, and by the next day things are usually calm again.

  CLARIFYING THE PATTERN

  Although she might define it differently, Stephanie is beginning to identify an overfunctioning-underfunctioning pattern around decision-making. The more Jane overfunctions (jumps in to make decisions for the two of them; fails to express any doubt or insecurity about her own judgment; behaves as if she does not benefit from Stephanie’s help and advice), the more Stephanie underfunctions (spaces out or does nothing when a decision is to be made; relies on Jane to take over; feels lazy or less competent to make important decisions). And the more Stephanie underfunctions, the more Jane will overfunction. Overfunctioners and underfunctioners reinforce each other’s behavior in a circular fashion.

  Approaching a relationship pattern in this way—gathering the objective data about who does what, when, and in what order—is difficult enough when things are calm. It is next to impossible if we are locked into emotionally intense and blaming behavior. We have seen how women learn to be the emotional reactors in our relationships, especially when stress hits, so we may need to make a conscious effort to become less reactive in order to focus our attention on the task of getting the facts.

  GATHERING DATA

  Stephanie will also benefit from gathering some data about how this pattern of relating to Jane fits with her own family tradition over the generations. For example, how did Stephanie’s parents, and their parents before them, negotiate issues of decision-making? In Stephanie’s extended family, which relationships were characterized by a balance of power and which marriages had one dominant (overfunctioning) partner who was viewed as having the corner on competence? How is Stephanie’s relationship with Jane similar to and different from her parents’ relationship with regard to the sharing of decision-making power? What other women in Stephanie’s family have struggled to shift away from the underfunctioning position and how successful were they? As we saw with Katy, our current relationship struggles are part of a legacy that began long before our birth. A familiarity with this legacy helps us gain objectivity when evaluating our behavior in relationships.

  Birth order is another factor that strongly influences our way of negotiating relationships. In Stephanie and Jane’s case, for example, their pattern around decision-making fits their sibling positions. Jane is the older of two sisters. It is characteristic of one in this sibling position to be a natural leader and to believe, in one’s heart of hearts, that one truly knows best, not only for oneself, but for the other person as well. Stephanie is the younger of the two sisters in her family, and, in the manner of one in that position, is often comfortable letting other people do things for her. Although she may compete fiercely with the “leader,” she may also shun leadership should it be offered her. Simply being aware that one’s sibling position within the family affects one’s approach to life can be extremely helpful. If Stephanie finds herself having a hard time taking charge of things, and Jane an equally hard time not taking charge, they will both be able to deal with their situation with
more humor and less self-criticism if they can appreciate the fact that they are behaving much the way people in their sibling positions behave under stress.

  SO WHO HAS THE PROBLEM?

  Let us suppose that Stephanie has taken the following steps since the dog incident: First, she has let go of her blaming position (“If anything had happened, you would have been to blame!”) and has begun to think about, rather than simply react to, the problem. Second, she has pretty clearly figured out who does what, when, and in what order; when stress hits, Stephanie underfunctions and Jane overfunctions. Third, Stephanie has thought about how this pattern fits with the traditions in her own family. Finally, she has concluded that she is in a de-selfed position and that her anger is a signal that she would like to achieve more balance in her relationship with Jane when it comes to decision-making.

  The following dialogues reflect two modes of using our anger: The first assumes that Jane has the problem and it is her responsibility to take care of it. The second assumes that Stephanie has the problem and it is her responsibility to take care of it.