Anger Managment and Rage Therapy Through Journal Writing

We all feel angry from time to time. For some people, anger is chronic. For others, it's situational. I have found that writing provides therapy, release, detachment, and healthy coping strategies that have helped my manage anger issues. Too frustrated to put yourself into the discipline of writing? I understand. I felt that way at first, too. But after I discovered how therapeutic writing is for coping with anger, it became easier to use writing as an anger management technique.

Some of us live with angry people who would zap our entire energy reserve if we let them. Their anger is corrosive and debilitating. And not just to them, but also to those around them. I'll say that angry people who make no effort to control their rage, hurt loved ones far more than they hurt themselves. While the angry person vents the poison in his system, the loved ones, especially the spouse, attempts to diffuse and assuage the anger to protect her family from psychological harm. 

The innocent victims suck up the anger and absorb it. They don't get a chance to vent their anger because the angry one is too busy airing his venom. When the dam breaks on their anger, there is so much pent up that it seems ungovernable. And the non-angry sponge people end up feeling sick and guilty because anger is not their normal way of functioning.

So how does writing out your anger help? Several ways. Getting anger out of the body is cleansing. Repressed rage is destructive. Next, writing is a constructive rather than destructive force. Even if the words are angry, they don't wound and scar like angry spoken words and actions. Words can be kept safe and private in a journal. Words can be saved, pondered and discarded if after some time, the writer feels as though his words were too harsh. For those who publish their writing, however, it's advisable to ponder words written in anger before publishing.

Writing is a shared experience; it can build bridges and bonds. When I am angry, I write to others who may be experiencing what I'm feeling. Sometimes I write to give advice and sometimes I just write to access the feelings and neutralize them. I feel better after some emotional purging. I feel better knowing that my shared experience may encourage others to find healthy, creative ways to express their anger. I don't write out my anger to dump on others, but to find solace for myself and others. 'Sorrow shared is sorrow halved'. 

They Put a Black Rose on My Door

I don't talk about this much but today just seemed right to share my motherache. We lost our 5th and 6th children, both girls, to separate in utero trauma. Both little ladies were ironically the same gestational age when they passed away. But their causes of death were different. And we never found out what exactly happened with either. Here's more on that and a poem I wrote for Mary Therese. 

I got an infection, I think Strep B, no one ever said, with my Mary Therese. My water broke. She was alive and kicking right up to the end as my fluid leaked out and there wasn't a thing I could do to stop it. The doctor didn't catch it in time and it was mostly gone when he did. 

I almost voluntarily checked myself out of life that day. I had a loving husband and darling children. But the pain burned so bad I thought it would devour me. Then Our Lady sent St. Teresa of Avila to talk sense into me. 

I know, it sounds insane. But I saw them both, plain as day. Maybe it was the delirium of the fever. Or the pain. It wasn't the drugs because I couldn't keep anything down. They would have let me have it because she was going to die anyway, they said. That could have been more tactfully said but I was past caring. 

And she did pass, but only after patiently keeping her mama company all that long, horrible night. The whole family was there, all night to say goodbye to baby sister. Big Sister Molly stayed awake the entire time and only fell asleep when Mary Therese left us to go to heaven. 

Maybe I just want to believe that heaven cares, that this is not the end, that I will hold my children again. You're darn right I do. Not much point in anything otherwise. 

They put a black rose on my door, in the maternity ward. 

Here's a poem I originally wrote for Associated Content for my little Mar. I wasn't ever going to name a baby after me, but somehow that name just seemed to fit her. Daddy wanted her to take part of Mama to heaven. Mary Therese's birthday and death day were January 5, 2001.

Waterlily Rose Maid

her eyes, green-gray, still waters, do not cry

not mirror nor window of soul-dark spaces

guardians hold prisoner, secrets shy

in soft tranquil deep and twilight traces

her skin, like dogwood blossoms translucent 

rose petal fair and water-lily pale 

heaven-bound as nimbus, storm-cloud spent 

fresh as a lamb, nested quiet in vale

no tears descend this tender, pallid cheek 

no sorrow escapes this unworldly maid 

no companion shares nor solace does seek 

perfect in slumber, unmoving and staid

Silent in her grave, somber and death-cold 

Never to feel pain, nor warmth of mother's arms enfold.

I wrote this a few years ago, in a darker place. Now I know that you will feel our arms, baby. I think in some way you already do. 

Love always, mama.