Anger. It’s an emotion many of us are taught to avoid, suppress, or feel guilty about. I recently attended a church sermon that challenged this very notion, suggesting anger isn’t inherently negative. Initially, the sermon’s topic felt unwelcome, particularly as I was grappling with personal frustrations. Like many, I anticipated a message about anger’s negativity and the virtue of its avoidance. However, the rector offered a different perspective: anger reveals our values. We become angry, he proposed, when reality clashes with our sense of how things should be.
This idea resonated deeply as I delved into Harriet Lerner’s seminal work, “The Dance Of Anger.” Lerner echoes the sentiment that anger, in itself, is neither good nor bad; it simply exists. The problem, she argues, lies not in the feeling itself, but in how we often express it. We get caught in what she terms a “dance of anger” – unproductive cycles of interaction with loved ones, colleagues, and family. Instead of channeling anger’s energy constructively, we often find ourselves locked in repetitive, ineffective patterns.
Lerner points out a common pitfall: we tend to “see people rather than patterns as the problem.” This is a crucial distinction. To break free from these frustrating dances, we need to shift our focus. Instead of trying to change others – a futile endeavor, as we lack control over their opinions and values – we should redirect our energy inwards. This means clarifying our own values and taking self-directed action to address our concerns. The aim isn’t manipulation, but rather self-empowerment. Furthermore, understanding the root causes of our anger, which can be multifaceted, is essential to ensure our emotional responses are appropriately directed. Changing ingrained relationship patterns can be unsettling, but it’s a necessary step toward healthier interactions.
Initially, I admit I was somewhat resistant to what I perceived as a feminist slant in the book’s early chapters. Lerner seemed to frame anger expression through the lens of gender roles and societal oppression of women. While these societal factors are undeniably relevant, I felt individual personality and life experiences also play significant roles in how individuals express or suppress anger. In my own observation, particularly within romantic relationships, men may be just as prone to suppressing anger and resentment out of fear of jeopardizing the relationship as women.
It struck me as ironic when Lerner cautioned against dwelling on blame, yet later attributed a woman’s behavior to a lack of empowerment in male-dominated environments. While such systemic issues are valid points of discussion, these brief digressions occasionally detracted from the book’s core message. Thankfully, they are infrequent and don’t overshadow the overall insights.
Another point of reflection for me was Lerner’s concept of “deselfing.” While acknowledging that women (and sometimes men) can indeed lose sight of their own needs in relationships, I believe there’s a delicate balance to strike. The line between healthy self-assertion and selfishness can become blurred. Lerner’s emphasis on prioritizing one’s own needs and taking action to resolve personal problems might, for some, inadvertently encourage a slide towards selfishness. She seems to suggest a minimal need for moral judgment, advocating for individuals to identify their needs and pursue them. The phrase “Maybe I am selfish, but…” appears to be a recurring theme. But is it truly detrimental to pause and consider whether our guilt might be signaling genuine selfishness, rather than simply dismissing it in the pursuit of self-fulfillment? If we can learn to coexist with guilt to meet our own needs, could we not also learn to manage anger and resentment to meet the needs of others? These are complex ethical questions that deserve deeper consideration.
Perhaps my struggle with the guilt/anger dynamic stems from my Christian upbringing. Christianity emphasizes not only outward actions but also inward intentions, even “sins of the heart.” Biblical teachings touch upon anger, cautioning against anger without cause, yet also acknowledging righteous anger. This creates a nuanced understanding of anger – it’s not inherently sinful, but its expression and motivation are crucial. “Be angry and do not sin,” is a key verse, highlighting this balance. For me, discerning when anger becomes sinful or remains justified has been a lifelong question.
“The Dance of Anger” offered a valuable shift in perspective. Instead of fixating on whether my anger is “good” or “bad,” Lerner encourages a more pragmatic question: Is my anger productive? Is it leading to positive change? If not, how can I channel it to achieve constructive outcomes? This re-framing has been profoundly helpful. It moves beyond moral judgment and focuses on the practical application of anger as a catalyst for self-awareness and positive action. By understanding “the dance of anger,” we can step out of unproductive patterns and begin to use this powerful emotion to create meaningful change in our lives and relationships.
