It’s all fine and well to be a self-aware, reflective type of person. You know, the kind of person – like me, and probably like you too – who questions their motivations, who strives to know and do better, who takes responsibility for their words and actions and who knows beyond a shadow that every decision they’ve ever made has led them precisely to here.

It’s awesome to be that kind of person, isn’t it? Especially if “here” is awesome. Go you. High-fives all around.

But what if your life is the diametric opposite of awesome? Then it’s more like a high five to the side of your head. With a chair.

Precisely because I am the kind of person who knows I am utterly responsible for the life I am living, I am MAD. I am wallowing in the responsibility of being a summation of all the choices I’ve ever made, and it makes me so mad I could just punch myself in the face. A few times.

If only it would help, right?

Yes, I’m a well-read, personal-development junkie (clearly all evidence points to the fact that it works remarkably well for me), so I’m well-versed in all those pinterest-y, wise nuggets like, “every day is a new chance to change your life,” “if you don’t like where you’re at, you have the power to choose again,” “you are one decision away from changing your life forever,” blah, blah, blah. When you’re really freaking angry at yourself though, none of this helps. In fact, if you’re me, it mostly makes you swear.

This isn’t the time to make life-changing decisions, OK. Wait until I’m less angry, OK. But what to do with this self-rage in the meantime?

My life is ridiculous. It’s not even relatable, it’s so absurd. My personal life lurches from one crisis to another. My professional – and therefore financial – life too.  And living the single-parent-to-twin-5-year-olds dream without family or easy support nearby is… it’s relentless, is what it is.  Relentless.

And I made it. I made it ALL! Look at me go.

Please don’t tell me to “trust that I’m where I need to be.” Oh. My. God. I can trust it or not trust it, but it doesn’t change a goddamned thing. This IS where I’m at. And also don’t tell me “everything happens for a reason” or – one of my favourites – “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.”  I know full well all the reasons things are the way they are (back to my excellent choices), and while God might not give us more than we can handle, I have questions about how much we give ourselves.

And what about making another choice, anyway? There is absolutely no evidence that I have a gift for wise or good decision making. What do you do when you’ve lost trust in yourself?

You can cram all that rage and fear and pain for awhile: eat too much. Drink too much. Sleep or Netfilx-and-chill too much. But because you can only run and hide for so long, at some point you’re have to face your stupid self and get on with it.  As philosopher Martha Nussbaum writes, “beyond a certain point there is really no place to go, except into your own heart.”

You know the refrain from that children’s book, Going On a Bear Hunt? “Can’t go over it, can’t go under it, can’t go around it - have to go THROUGH it!!” There is everything you need to know about living a whole life, right there. Whether it’s joy, grief or rage, there is only one way to process and assimilate it, and that is to turn into the sun – or the storm - and move through it.

The trick when moving through a storm, as Churchill so wisely advised, is to avoid stopping half way through and setting up camp: “When you’re going through hell – keep going.”

Which is a huge act of faith, isn’t it? Because when you’re in the middle of it, you can’t see a way out. It’s just one, big, never-ending shit-storm. Maybe THAT’S the trust part. Trust that if you do nothing more than keep moving in a forward direction, regardless of how small the steps, that you will find your way out the other side. Keep. Going. Keep. Going…

Like walking face-first into a spider’s web, our instinct is to do the defcon-five, emergency-exit dance with pain: GET IT OFF! GET IT OUT!  When we flail madly and simply toss it anywhere that isn’t us, it shows up as anger. Inevitably, we end up hurting those closest to us. We inflict pain when we haven’t dealt with our own.

Sonofabitch, right?

Back to my stupid rage. Which of course, at its root, is stupid pain. Or stupid grief, which is kind of the same thing. Anger is pain in masquerade, and incognito it feels bossy and brave. Beneath the costume though, we feel helpless. And weak. Because that is pain.

Martha says anger is “how we seek to create an illusion of control where we feel none.” When we’re feeling out of control, anger keeps up the fraud and gives us the illusion that we’re back in charge. 

But of course! Who doesn't want to feel in control? It’s not only easier but more socially acceptable to show our anger than to show our pain. Anger is righteous! Anger is morally superior! Anger is legitimate! Pain is lame! Weakness is wrong! Helplessness is – Jesus. Who’s not recoiling? No one wants that. Ever.

I’m paraphrasing Martha again here, but she argues that anger is basically a sexy substitute for…wait for it... 

Grief.

This feels like truth to me. The rage of the agonizing saddness of being where you are; of events being what they are. Anyone who has witnessed the simplicity and speed with which a child can move from rage to sorrowful wailing will know just how close the relationship of emotions is. 

How do we manage grief? We mourn. Then we start taking tiny steps of forward action. Then we begin to repair our lives.

And so, THIS is how I will manage my present anger; how I will “move through” it. I’ll wallow in it and rage and paddle furiously around in the fire for as long as I can stand it. Then, when I’m exhausted and weakened by the effort, I'll be able to settle into and feel all that low-lying grief. And only then, finally, can the work of repairing my life anew begin. Again.