Good evening and welcome. Thank you to the local Jewish Center and to Gateways for sponsoring this evening and inviting me to be with you. Tonight’s presentation is about dealing with anger in the home.
I’m going to ask for your help. Let’s identify the typical negative emotions a child feels. We’re all adults in this room, so we were all children at one time. We can speak on our own behalf, or about our own children or other children we’ve known or worked with professionally. What negative emotion did we feel when we were on the receiving end of an adult’s anger? And what are the negative results? Those are the two questions I want us to open up. What are the typical negative emotions children experience? And what are the negative results of my anger as a parent in the home? Any suggestions?
It creates fear. Fear of what? A fear that maybe my mom or dad’s love is contingent on performance, behavior, or cooperation. If my performance, behavior, or cooperation doesn’t meet their expectations and they get angry, is it possible that, as a child, I could interpret that anger as a loss of love? And in that fear, I could fear that I won’t deserve their love in the future. So yes, fear is very real. Is there any other fear that anger could engender in a child?
Hatred. What about fear of opening up and being honest about what’s happening to me? Is it possible that if I try to tell you what’s happening at school, and you’re very upset with me because it isn’t what you expected, or what you remember from when you cooperated with your parents and their school rules and discipline, I might learn from being on the receiving end of my parents’ anger not to be honest about what’s happening to me at school? I might fear being honest, being open, and sharing with you, and so I’ll go to someone who is willing to listen and give me a less judgmental, more listening ear.
So we’ve got fear of my parents, fear of opening up, and fear of being honest. We’ve got hatred. If I’m on the receiving end of anger, is it possible that even if the anger is infrequent, when it happens it’s quite an explosion, and a young child could experience feelings that might create hatred over time?
Even if my parents have invested hundreds of hours, possibly thousands, and tens of thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars in my education, shelter, clothing, tutoring and accessories, vacations, sports equipment, camps, and so on, is it possible that I could be raised in a family where I receive anger frequently—or even infrequently, but with serious explosions—and insults about my personality, my lack of cooperation, my lack of respect, or not getting the right report card? Is it possible that the hatred growing inside me could come out in a statement from a young teenager, 11, 12, 13, 14, or 15: “Mum, you hate me. Dad, you really hate me”?
And Mum and Dad say, “What? How could you get it so wrong? I mean, okay, let’s analyze this, dear daughter, my dear son. Let’s look at the facts. Nine months in your mother’s womb equals hatred. Fourteen hours of hard labor equals hatred. Three months of sleepless nights. At two or three o’clock in the morning, I don't know where your mom is, and she's feeding you. Totally devoted. And that’s called hatred. Eighteen thousand meals before you can boil an egg. Nine thousand diapers before you’re potty-trained. Lousy wages. Rotten conditions. And that, of course, leads you to the conclusion that we hate you. Tens of thousands of hours I’ve spent busting my tail in a company where I don’t get full appreciation, emotionally or verbally, and certainly not financially, all to get you through good schools. Of course, that means I hate you.” The list goes on and on and on. That’s a pretty good case for convincing the jury that the child is wrong and Mom and Dad are right.
So where does the kid get the idea, or the feeling, “I’m hated”? If a person had to choose between luxuries—not just comforts, but luxuries—and occasional or frequent bursts of anger from the same person giving them those luxuries, is it possible that, given the choice between “I’ll do without the luxuries and have no anger” and “I’ll take the luxuries with the anger,” 9 out of 10 kids, and possibly more, would choose, “I’d prefer a life without the luxuries and no anger with that deal, too”?
So even if, on paper, I as a parent am absolutely right, and everything I’ve said, done, and given to this child adds up to love and appreciation—how else do I explain all that giving if not because I love him?—the child can still believe that I, the parent, hate him because of the anger in the relationship. Hatred is a very powerful one. You want to add to that, madam? Yes, the child hating the parent. Okay, so now we have hatred in two directions. The child may perceive Mom and Dad as hating the kid, and anger could also create the feeling, “You know what? I hate this father. I hate this mom.”
With all the comforts, buying, carpools, food, favorite foods, camp, and taking them to school when they miss the bus, only for the fourth time this week, and all the other things Mom and Dad do for the kid, is it possible that, on the receiving end of anger, the child could come to feel anger to the extent of hatred, or even resentment and bitterness toward Mom and Dad?
If I’m not good at verbalizing my position because I’m only three months old, nine months old, a year old, two years old, three years old, five years old, or ten years old, I simply haven’t developed my emotional vocabulary or sensitivity to myself. I’m hardly even communicating to myself, let alone to others, what’s going through me or what I’m going through. Is it possible that only when I get a little older—12, 13, 14—do I start to understand that I have a lot of anger, resentment, bitter feelings, and possibly even hatred toward my parents? And they wake up to a very rude awakening: “My son says he hates me. He hates me. How can that be?”
And yet we know as adults that, in a job situation, we might have to choose between verbal appreciation for our work and emotional support from our co-workers, our boss, and those who receive our services, along with a cut in salary; or higher commissions and a better salary, with verbal abuse and a lack of appreciation for how hard I’m working for my boss and how much I’m bending over backward to accommodate co-workers who aren’t always easy to get along with. Which would I prefer: an increase in salary, with a lack of verbal appreciation and possibly even insults when I know I’m doing my best, or a cut in salary when I don’t know where I’m going to find the rest of the money for the bills? I’m putting that contrast out there to clarify the negative power of anger in the home: what the child feels now and the results over time.
So we’ve got hatred in two directions, resentment, and bitterness. We have fear. I may be afraid to communicate because if I catch Mom at a bad moment, or Dad at the wrong time, I might get an avalanche of consciousness: “I’m busy. I have no time now. Give me a break. All I do is live for you. Can’t you see I can’t deal with you now?” Is it possible that even though Mom and Dad really are overwhelmed, I, the child on the receiving end, learn to back off and say to myself, “My opinion, my feelings, my concerns, my issues are not important”? And what will that do to my self-estimation, my estimation of myself?
So we’ve got fear, hatred, and the possibility that my self-esteem is eroding. Who are the two greatest authorities in my life, besides teachers, the principal, aunts, uncles, and grandparents? My parents are the two closest authorities, and the specific words they use to describe me matter. “You lovely child, I love you, so sweet.” If I use very negative terms, is it possible that I could hurt my child and, over time, create resentment, anger, and bitterness? Meanwhile, I’m doing my best for that kid. I really am. But is it possible that my anger could hurt them so much that it’s not only fear, but a combination of fear and hatred? It might be a combination not only of fear and hatred, but of fear, hatred, and self-esteem. What else is at stake when we put all these pieces together in terms of the recipe that anger creates in the child? What else will the child go through, feeling-wise? Self-confidence, self-esteem. What else can we put on the table, so we get as big a picture as possible?
This isn’t about guilt. It’s about trying to be as real as possible in understanding what we sometimes saw or experienced ourselves, or saw in our siblings, when they were on the receiving end of anger. What else could we add? Yes, sir?
Humiliation. The feeling of being humiliated. There are two types of humiliation. There’s humiliation in the presence of my very self, because I have my five senses and I’m experiencing myself. If my parent humiliates me and no one else is around, I still feel humiliated because I’m listening to the humiliation. There’s a me inside of me. What does that humiliation do to my self-esteem? What does it do to my self-confidence? What does it say about who I am and what I can expect of myself if I’m called negative names? Is it possible that those negative names become labels, and possibly the definition I give myself, if, God forbid, I hear them enough times?
Or if, unrelated to my parents’ insults, someone else touches the same button and calls me a similar name, is it possible that having that reference reinforced by a different adult, a different authority, will make me think, “You know, maybe Mom’s right. I’m a fat slob. I’m a pig. I’m good for nothing. I’m a liar. I’m not honest”? And yet really all I’m trying to do is avoid Mom or Dad’s anger. The reason I’m not telling the truth isn’t that I’m deceitful. I’m afraid of the consequences, and therefore I’m lying, but it’s not lying with the intent to deceive.
So I can be humiliated on one level, when I’m the only one there, and it can erode my identity of self. But what happens when I’m humiliated in front of other people? It’s compounded so many more times, and then is it possible that I start defining myself in terms of what others think of me? Once I do that, what’s going to happen? I’ll make decisions. I may even have a thought process, and possibly act and speak while first thinking, “What are they going to think or say if I open my mouth, if I act this way?” I’ve been trained by humiliation to become sensitive to how people look at me.
There’s much more to say about humiliation. There’s even more to say about shame. That’s John Bradshaw’s department: how deeply shame can be rooted in a child in the earlier years. And it’s not only parents. A child can have a beautiful, harmonious home and receive a lot of accolades and compliments, with a lot of genuine virtues recognized. “This child is beautiful on the outside. You are very handsome. You are my princess. On the outside, you are beautiful and a princess; you’re beautiful on the inside as well, because of your generosity. Look how giving you are to your younger brother; look how forgiving you are to your older brother, and how you find the good in them.” And they’re raised that way.
Is it possible that during the six, seven, eight, or nine hours a day I’m not with my child, they might not get along well at school with one or several peers? Or, for whatever reason, the teacher may not take a special liking to my child or have a real affinity with them. Is it possible that my kid could go through a whole year of humiliation, feeling fear, getting angry, and feeling hatred toward the teacher or peers in the class? And if they aren’t communicating at home, because children haven’t all developed the emotional vocabulary to explain things as they really are and as they see them—and sometimes, if they do, they falter and can’t explain clearly—is it possible that when I get involved as my child’s advocate, and the teacher gives a different version, I’m very likely to side with the teacher because the teacher is an adult? And if I still don’t believe the teacher and go to the principal, and get another picture of my child as more of a problem than I realized, is it possible that I won’t understand what my kid is going through?
Even with a loving home, is it possible that anger my child receives from a teacher, principal, other people at school, or even neighbors playing on the street could hurt very deeply? We know there are many places where anger can really harm my kid. Home is certainly the most powerful place, and the most important reference for a child’s mindset: Who defines reality in my life? Who defines what’s right and what’s wrong? Who defines values, what’s good and what’s bad? Who defines my role model for how to respond to difficulties and frustration, and how to respond to difficult people in my parents’ lives?
When I see my parents’ anger toward people they resent—whether, God forbid, it’s between Mom and Dad, or anger and bitterness they express about extended family members, like the mother-in-law or father-in-law, or whoever Mom or Dad is complaining about—is it possible that, if I don’t see enough respect for differences that will always exist between people, I’ll interpret my parents’ anger as the appropriate way to respond to differences? At the same time, I might promise myself, “I’ll never do that to my wife, my son, my daughter, or my husband, the way I saw it at home.” Then I may discover that my commitment, desire, and motivation to be different won’t be enough.
If I haven’t practiced or trained, and I haven’t been taking exercises in running a four-minute mile, but I’m committed to making the four-minute mile—wait a minute, if I’m not practicing, how will I have the stamina and metabolism, and be able to pace myself so I can make that four-minute mile? If I want to get a gold medal in controlling my anger, commitment, desire, and motivation are very nice. Is it enough to enter marriage with that desire and motivation, or do I actually need training and practice? That requires me to deal with difficult people and train myself to respond without anger, or with less anger, to communicate more, and to be respectful in that communication despite our differences.
So we’ve got humiliation on several levels. What else can we add? I realize this hasn’t been a very positive picture so far, but hopefully we’re going to turn it around. What else can we add to see some relief? Yes, sadness. As a child, I could feel sad. I could feel that you’re disappointed in me. Your anger means I’m not meeting what you want me to be in your life, and that will make me feel disappointed in myself. I’ll feel sad that I’m not being the sibling I should be to my brothers and sisters. Could it lead to depression? Could frequently experienced sadness lead to feelings like, “There’s not much hope. I don’t think I can change”? Basically, I’ve even been called hopeless sometimes. Is it possible that sadness can turn into something much more serious, affecting my emotional health, my feelings about my ability to cope and move ahead, and even the extent to which I’m willing to change? That could be affected by angry statements saying I’m not a good person or a good child, even though 99% of the time Mom and Dad could be very loving. It’s still possible that I, as a sensitive child, can be hurt by the few statements and wish they had never been said.
It’s true that the 99% can do a whole lot to heal, but let’s put into perspective the power, penetration, and harm—and, if I can use the word, the poison—of my anger. What is my anger essentially? It comes from frustration. As I admit, it may be because I’m overwhelmed at work. I might be going through a difficult marriage. So many times, my anger may not be directly because the child is provoking this emotion, response, or reaction. I could be at the end of a long day. But does my child deserve my love intrinsically, because of their intrinsic virtues? They’re my child. They’re lovable. Or is it really okay, on any level, for me not to separate what I go through in my personal life from my child? We know the answer: my child has nothing to do with whatever else might be going on in my personal life. That’s a very difficult requirement.
When I walk in the door of my home: smile, hug, kiss. “Oh, my beautiful little daughter, Sarah, how are you doing?” Hug, kiss. “How was school today?” It may not need to be more than that. Is it possible that a greeting every morning, as soon as we see our child wake up, every night before they go to sleep, and during several encounters through the day—in the bathroom, living room, dining room, bedroom, wherever—can be nothing deeper than a smile, a hug for no reason, and a kiss? Is it possible that receiving that over time could make enough deposits in the account of trust, love, and feeling appreciated that when—not if, but when—I get angry with my kid, there’s still a chance of rapport and healing? My child essentially sees and feels loved for no reason other than being my child, being Mum’s princess or Dad’s princess, Mum’s handsome young prince or Dad’s handsome young prince. And then, of course, on top of that, if they get good grades, I love them for that, too. That’s a bonus, but I love them anyway.
Is it possible—and hopefully we’ll get to this soon, when we reach the positive end—that we’ll walk away saying, “I see perhaps more than I realized before”? I may have a different awareness of how penetrating, devastating, and humiliating anger can be; how much fear, anguish, hatred, bitterness, and resentment can be engendered or triggered in a young child during their childhood, throughout their childhood, by my anger toward this kid.
With that awareness, I can realize that a lot of my anger may not have to do directly with the child’s performance. I have plenty on my plate that causes frustration daily, hourly. I’m talking about the time I wake up late, the time I’m late in traffic, and the time I get to the office and see unfinished projects and deadlines that haven’t been fully met, the memos and voicemail—oh no, the email. And between it all, holding the marriage together, building the family, making a living, staying on top of the problems the kids are having in school, and dealing with a difficult aunt, uncle, mother, father, or parents-in-law. Put it all together, and I’m only human. But is it possible that, for the sake of awareness alone, when I come home I can switch off everything else for the momentary encounter with my child, even if I don’t invest any more than that?
We’re not even talking yet about playing games with them, family outings, or taking the kid out one-on-one during lunchtime once a month for pizza, signing him out of school during lunch break, taking him bowling, taking him out of school a little earlier in the afternoon, taking him to a Mets game, or going swimming together. We’re not even getting to that. I’m just bringing our attention to the power of a smile, a greeting, a hug, and a kiss.
No matter what else is going on in my life, is it possible that those four alone—a smile, a hug, a kiss, and a greeting at the beginning and end of the day, and during short encounters at home—can help? That’s before we get to the bonus of doing things together, playing together, going on outings and family trips, doing projects together, collecting something together, or carefully planning a vacation together. Before we get to any of that, which are even bigger builders of rapport and self-esteem, could those four simple things—a greeting, smile, kiss, and hug—alone do a lot to help my child know that whatever else Mom and Dad go through, they are essentially loved and appreciated?
Is there anything else we want to add to this list? We’ve got a lot of heavy items here: fear, humiliation. Yes, sir? Demotivation. If I’m going to be called names, told I’m hopeless, irresponsible, or not punctual, or that I can’t seem to remember to do things right—“I can’t believe you haven’t finished your homework. You haven’t started your homework. You’re not in your pajamas. You’re still watching television. The computer’s not turned off. Finish your supper”—my life doesn’t begin until 9 p.m. I know there’s no one in this room who relates to this, but some of your friends, some of you have friends who know what I’m talking about.
Then I tell my son, “You are a son; you’re not responsible. Let me tell you something, kid. When I was your age, I did nothing to my parents, and I wish I had, so I’m going to save you years of frustration and tell you: cooperate.” What happens if, over time, I’m called certain names that make me want to be a better son, a better child? If I make some attempts but still get anger and name-calling, will I become more motivated or less motivated? Is it possible I could start believing I’m not responsible? If I believe I’m not responsible, how will that affect my performance and my expectations of myself?
If I believe I’m not responsible, not punctual, not cooperative, not disciplined, or not respectful—because those are sometimes the names I get called, besides “brat” or “pain in the neck,” or whatever other names might be out there—is it possible I could start believing those labels and hold myself to those identities and definitions of myself?
Could the spillover from that demotivation affect my schoolwork? Could it affect my self-esteem in terms of social skills? If I’m a nobody and a nothing—and obviously I’m painting this very bleakly so we realize and become more aware of how far-reaching it can possibly be—is it possible that the spillover from any one of these things, demotivation, anger, hatred, or fear, could affect other areas: academics, social life, interaction with siblings, and then, as they grow older, their not really taking control of those emotions? Is it possible that my anger as a parent can hurt my child on so many levels, without the child understanding it, and that I may not even understand how far-reaching it is? Is there anything else you want to add to this list? Madam? Okay, we’ll take turns.
Yes, enough that if the anger is unconditional—in other words, if I’m going to be angry anyway because there’s always something I’ll find fault with you over—I’ve essentially created a definition that you’re never going to be able to win, no matter how hard you try. In your craving, and I use that word deliberately, to win Mom and Dad’s respect, feel loved and appreciated by them, and get fewer insults and less anger, is it possible that instead of becoming demotivated, which is a strong possibility, I could become over-motivated to do anything to win my parents’ approval without their anger?
But if I still don’t show up for the gold medal you win or your play, without having to be angry, I’ve said, “You don’t exist in my life. I honestly don’t care,” even if I apologize afterward. It will take a long time for that kid to forget that Mom didn’t turn up, Dad didn’t turn up. We’re talking about how the kid could be over-motivated but still lose, because if my anger isn’t attached to a condition, it’s unconditional anger. It’s not about you anymore. No. It has nothing to do with your performance. I’m angry because I’m angry. This is the tool I use when I’m frustrated, and there are a lot of reasons for me to feel frustrated.
Madam at the back. Yes. Your name, sorry? Martha’s point is, number one, I’m training myself—or getting trained, if you like—in responding with anger to people and differences. Then, when I grow up as an adolescent and later as a marriage partner and parent, it’s possible I’ll use those same skills. That’s one tremendous downside. Number two, your point is—remind me what your second point is again. I’m sorry. I could make a very bad choice, and it comes to—so it’s not only possible that I’m more likely to repeat the same anger with my own children or with people who are different from me. In choosing a spouse, I might also consciously or subconsciously choose someone who is very docile, then lose respect for the fact that they aren’t strong internally and call them a wimp, without realizing it’s not just about them. It reflects where I’m coming from in my easily angered response to differences between myself and my spouse.
I think we could spend the whole evening identifying different negative emotions and results of my anger as a parent toward my children. I’ll take one last point, and then we’re going to start turning this around. Yes. Right. Right. Right. Excellent question. If I, as a child, experience my parents’ anger, but it’s like watching a movie, and it’s neutral—I’m seeing how they respond to a difference they don’t like in someone else, whether it’s a boss, a neighbor, or someone else—but it isn’t directed at me, and I’m not the one their anger is directed at, what’s going to happen in my internal makeup? Will I still have negative emotions about myself? Most likely I’ll be okay. That’s my speculation. But what won’t be okay is this: will I end up having more or less respect for Dad? More or less respect for Mom?
Because essentially, anger is a statement that says, “I don’t like when you—when you do this, when you say this. I don’t like when you tell me you don’t like the way I’m raising our son. I don’t like when you tell me how to talk to the boss, how to ask for a raise. I don’t like when you talk about my mom this way.” Whatever it is that I don’t like, if I use anger and lose control of my choice of words, the sharpness, and the insults, then if you still don’t cooperate, I, on the receiving end of my anger, will probably raise the volume a little higher. If I don’t succeed in intimidating you with that volume, I’ll raise the volume or intensity of the anger: “I hate you. I insult you. I can’t stand your guts.” And if I can push you away with my anger and force you to stop entering areas I’m not prepared to communicate about as an adult, as a mature person, what I’m really doing is building walls of bricks with my anger that stop intimacy.
That’s the real point of anger: my anger, as much as it appears to be an emotion out of control, really is, the way our sages tell us, a choice to stop communication. What do you mean, stop communication? The reason I’m angry is that I’m so frustrated and hurt by what you did or said. I’m telling you, and I can’t find another way to say it because I’m so angry with you. But anger is a choice, because if I’m willing to search for clarity about what you did or said, I wouldn’t use anger.
Do you know anyone who, on the receiving end of anger, said, “Oh, I see what you mean. Now I hear. Thank you for screaming at me. Now I hear. Oh, yes. Now I understand. Once you insulted me that way, it’s all totally clear”? How many people have responded that way? In fact, when I use anger to communicate something I don’t like about you, are you in listening mode, or do you go into defense and attack and probably pull out your list of my crimes against you? You might have a better memory than I do, and then it becomes a scoring match. We call in referees, and may even be willing to pay them to tell us who’s right and wrong, who’s more right and more wrong.
Anger, we’re told, is the only one—actually, there are two—there are two character traits in the entire spectrum of personality traits that the Talmud identifies that we’re instructed to eradicate, to spend a lifetime removing from our emotions. All the others are a middah. In Hebrew, middah means a personality trait. But here in Israel, what else does middah mean? It means a measure. Why does “personality trait” mean middah in Hebrew, and yet the same word middah also mean “measure”? What’s the correlation? God has unlimited imagination, so if this is His holy tongue, His holy language, so to speak, why didn’t He choose two words instead of one? They have different meanings, don’t they? The answer is that whenever a word in Hebrew, God’s holy tongue, has more than one meaning, even if those meanings are very different, they’re correlated. There’s a synonymous relationship.
Is kindness a good or bad character trait? What would you say? If I had to decide between the two, you’d say it’s good. But could I destroy my child’s independence by giving and giving and giving and giving to the point that my son is 33 years old and entering—23 years old, he’s entering Harvard Medical School—and Mum is going along with him for the interview? What? Why? He needs my son. Guess who’s packing his bags and is only 40 years old? Yeah, Mum. Or Dad doesn’t trust him, and the kid is 24 years old. Is it possible that in the name of giving and giving and giving, and bailing out and bailing in, in the name of kindness, I’m actually creating a dependent child who isn’t self-sufficient?
The words “character trait” and “measure” are the same word in Hebrew because a character trait isn’t good or bad. It depends on the measure. Except for two: anger and arrogance. We’re not discussing arrogance today. But anger, we’re told, is the one character trait, besides its twin brother arrogance, that has no measure that works. It never works. If it works, it’s only because it appears to make the other person cooperate, but they’re acting out of fear, because they have no choice, or because they feel trapped.
But guess what’s going to happen when I, Mum or Dad, am no longer there? What’s my kid going to do? Will he be motivated by love to cooperate? Or will they have their party, take the keys to the car, do what they want, drink what they want, go where they want, with whom they want, and any which way they want, once I’m not around? If they’re acting out of fear of my anger, anger never works. When it appears to work, it isn’t working where it needs to, which is internally. The child needs to be internally motivated, not because Mum or Dad said so, but because it’s the right thing to do. They need to understand, appreciate, and value on their own that it makes sense. But if it’s out of fear of my anger, it only appears to work. Anger never works.
We didn’t even get into other things. Besides shame, what does anger do to a child’s sense of respect, self-respect, and respect for parents if they get angry frequently? What does it do to the child’s trust in other people if they’re afraid of other people’s anger? When they enter a marriage themselves, and are on the receiving end of anger from their spouse, is it possible that, consciously or subconsciously, this could spin them right back into child mode: “Oh my gosh, I’m going to go through this again”? Then I might explode, perhaps out of proportion to the issue we disagree about. There are a lot of pieces here that result from my anger.
One last point. I think this lady had her hand up. Rejection. Whoa, that’s a big one. Really powerful. Rejection. I could feel so rejected by my mother’s or father’s anger that I might not only reject myself, as one possibility, but end up rejecting you.
Think for a moment: who do we remember connecting with as a child, someone by whom we felt especially appreciated? It could have been a parent, an uncle, an aunt, a favorite teacher, an elderly grandparent, or someone we sensed believed in us and deeply appreciated us. Notice that when we didn’t perform up to par, instead of rejecting us, they were still understanding and accepting.
A good test of whether that person is someone I can trust, someone I can open up to without fear, is whether I can stop worrying that they’ll be angry at me and feel love instead of hatred. But what if that person, God forbid, acts that way outwardly while having their own agenda inwardly? We’re talking about our daughter, and she’s 13, 14, or 15. Could she get badly hurt by such a person? Absolutely. We know the danger, the downside, and the high stakes of what anger can do on the downside, and what trust, acceptance, and less judgmentalism can do on the upside.
Now let’s start switching this over. We’ve talked about anger and its downside, and what it can do to inject very negative feelings, not only in the moment but over time. We’ve also talked about how, chas veshalom (God forbid), those feelings can be compounded and affect a child’s overall sense of self-identity, self-esteem, and self-confidence, and how being on the receiving end of a lot of anger can manifest later in life, in young adulthood and beyond.
Let’s ask ourselves: if it’s true that anger is a choice, can I as a parent become more aware that I can control my anger in the moment? If I can notice that as a possibility, then we can talk about change and turning things around. If I don’t believe I can change, what’s going to happen? I probably won’t. I probably won’t, because I tend toward anger. Or I have outrageous anger. I have rage. I have a lot of rage in me. Is it possible I could even use that as an excuse for my anger, so I don’t have to control it?
I want to share the following analogy. Imagine going to sleep one night. I’m going to take my jacket off; it’s getting hot in here. Imagine that in the middle of the night I have a dream. My grandfather comes to me in a dream and says, “You know, I made a special arrangement in heaven: every time you’re provoked to anger and control yourself, $100,000 will be wired into your account. Every time you blow it and give in to that provocation, whatever is in your account is wiped out. You have to keep this a secret, but at the end of one year, no matter how much money is in your account, you can cash out.” End of dream.
Right? And he tells you your new Citibank number, your account number. You wake up the next morning and completely forget about the dream, which often happens. You wake up, look at the night table, and there’s a note: “Memo from Grandpa. This is your new Citibank account number.” Suddenly, “Oh my gosh, that dream comes back to me now. Could it be true? I don’t believe it. Nah.”
Then Mum comes in. “You’re late for school again, you missed your Papa!” “What’s the matter with you?” “Oh, sorry, Mum. Thank you for reminding me. I’ll be dressed in just a moment.” Hey! He picks up the phone. 627-3999. Citibank. “Customer service, can I help you?” “Yes. Um, my name is Joe Smith, and my account number is 794389.” “What’s your social security number?” “My social security number is 0943857.” “What’s the size of your shoes?” “Size 11 shoes, brown hair, and 5 foot 10. For ten. What’s my balance?” “$100,000.” “When did it show up?” “Two minutes ago.” “Thank you.” Wow! He starts dreaming about what he’s going to do with all that money, and Mum comes in: “You’re still the host, love you.” “Sorry, Mum.” 627399, zero balance. Wow, this works. This is amazing.
Now let me ask you: you go through the day, get provoked at work or at school, get provoked, buy that, and my anger goes up and down when I remember, when I forget, when I remember, when I forget. I start noticing the balance. I keep checking the balance, and it’s going up. Let’s say I can potentially make a million dollars in ten provocations. I start realizing, “Oh, it’s not outside the realm of possibility in this analogy we’re building that, in a matter of months, I could be a multi-billionaire.” No question about it. $100,000 every time I control my anger? Let’s say the graph slowly goes up: $5 million, $50 million, $100 million, $400 million. There’s more money than I can dream of spending. And then I go and blow it. That’s very disappointing. But you’ve still got six months left. Would you give up, or would you say, “Wait a minute, $100,000 at a time? It adds up very quickly. Even one day, ten provocations, one million dollars—that’s not bad.”
What if, in the eleventh month, I’m a billionaire many times over and I blow it? Will I give up? If this is for real, will I give up? No! Why not? Even if it’s the last day, I can still make a few million. Why throw those opportunities away?
Question. Even though the analogy sounds like something I’d like to believe, is it possible that appreciation, love, gratitude, sensitivity, understanding, and empathy are even more valuable than money? Question.
Let’s say that over a lifetime of trying to control my anger, I start at 40, and my starting point is a lot of rage against Mum, Dad, siblings, grandparents who are no longer here, parents, parents-in-law who I’m waiting to be no longer here, my boss, co-workers, spouse, and children. Is it possible that, with all the rage, anger, frustration, resentment, and bitterness I might feel toward other people, I could start a career even as late as 40, with a starting point that isn’t very good? As the graph goes up and down, but slowly gets more consistent, what will happen to the closest relationships in my life, my spouse and children? Even though they’ve been on the receiving end of a lot of rage, will they start to notice the struggle and perhaps at least respect me? I’m sometimes in control and sometimes I blow it, but I apologize soon afterward, and I’m working very hard on a PhD in apology.
Is it possible that over 5, 10, or 15 years—let’s say it takes 15 years to reach a point where my spouse and children see, “You know what? Dad doesn’t have the rage he used to have. He’s mellowed a whole lot. He’s really worked on himself”—will they have less respect for me or more respect for me? And what will they ultimately remember: who I was in my rage, or how I’ve become accepting, listening, loving, appreciative, grateful, and apologetic when appropriate, from strength?
Let’s say it takes 20 years, 30 years, and I’m 70 years old. It took 30 years, after 40 years of rage, with 30 years of ups and downs before it became more consistent. Only at the age of 70 is Grandpa consistently loving, easygoing, giving, and generous, always looking to find a reason why his wife, her husband, her children, or grandchildren aren’t so bad, or didn’t mean it, always trying to find an exonerating cause that will let me not feel resentful toward you. Is it possible that, through those 30 years of struggle, the children will still love Mum and Dad and want a relationship with them because look how she worked on her anger?
I’ll ask you a question. Dad passes away at 93 years old, and for the last 23 years of his life he was known to be unusually loving, accepting, giving, generous, empathetic, grateful, and appreciative. You could never hear an unkind word, no matter how badly he felt he’d been hurt or abused, or how much people complained. He listened, apologized, or asked a healing question. He passes away at 93 years old. What will he be remembered for in the memories of his children and grandchildren? The first 40 years aren’t easy to undo, but what will he be remembered for? The first 40 years of rage, or 30 years of struggling and getting there? Will all that effort have been worth it? I think we all know the answer is clearly yes. It would still be worth it.
Is it ever too late? Is it ever too late, even if I messed up big-time with my kids? I’ve tried everything to change them and get them to be more loving, appreciative, and grateful for all I’ve done for them. “I cannot believe it. I’ve done so much. That child—I’m so angry.” But is it possible that if I change, my kid won’t be responding to the same Dad, or to the same Mum, and then they’ll change? If I try to change you, what’s probably going to happen? Are you really going to change? No! You might look like you changed just the policeman, get me out of your face, but you won’t really change.
Do you know anyone who changed anyone by trying to change them? Seriously, do you know any husband who changed his wife by trying to change her? Do you know any wife who succeeded in changing her husband by trying to change him? Do you know any parent who succeeded in changing their child by trying to change them?
The only possibility, because we’re dealing with people who have free will, is for me to change my free will in how I respond to you: with more listening and more effort to understand where you’re coming from and what you’ve been through. Many times, I’ve been blind for years, not realizing what my son went through at that school, in that class, with that roommate, or with that close friend or neighbor. Only years later did I understand the far-reaching effects of something I was blind to, didn’t want to know, or didn’t listen to when they complained and told me, “Things are happening, Dad. Can you help me?” I wasn’t receptive. Is it possible that in later years, as I change, my kids could learn, “I can talk to Dad. I can talk to Mum. I can trust them, open up, and not get screamed at. I can have a loving relationship”? It’s never too late.
But tonight we’re discussing not only the power to gain control of anger and not only recognizing its far-reaching negative effects. Let’s look at the other side of the equation. What’s the upside of being in a relationship with a parent? Let’s consider it from the children’s perspective. What’s the upside in the moment, in their feelings now, and in the long-term results? What’s the upside of seeing Mum or Dad provoked to anger by what’s going on at school, with the siblings, or with “I want to watch this program”? “No, I want—I was here first. I got the ball first,” and all the sibling rivalry and everything else they’re going through? What’s the upside of seeing Mom and Dad in control of this one trait, and, instead of anger, listening and talking, discussing differences, and disciplining and giving consequences without anger or name-calling?
I’m creating a contrast. I know most of us, including myself—and I mean that sincerely—are somewhere in between. We all lose it. But let’s see the contrast of the upside and what we’re reaching for. What’s the upside for a child who is on the receiving end of a parent who, for the most part, is in control of anger?
We have to turn around all the negative things we’ve discussed. What’s the upside? Madam, the child feels safe, secure, hopeful. Safe in what sense? Even when I do things, say things, or bring home reports my parents aren’t proud of, I don’t get screamed at or called names. I feel safe sharing with them the reality of what’s really going on in my life. Is that safety only in the present, or does it teach me that I can feel safe with my parents in the future, too, so that by the time I start to learn independence in adolescence, I’m much more likely to be a more secure person? What else besides safety? You said security.
A child who lives with a mom or dad, or both, frequently getting angry learns that their parents are unpredictable. Not only are they unpredictable, but I can’t know what to say or do that will guarantee they won’t be angry. Sometimes they get angry about things I just don’t understand. I might get a whole lecture on top of the anger, and I’m lost. I had no idea. Then I’ll give up being motivated to try to please them because I’m scared. I walk into the kitchen: it’s a minefield. I walk into the bathroom: another minefield. I walk into the living room, and another bomb explodes in my face. Eventually, all these angry grenades are being thrown at me. This isn’t a predictable home. I don’t feel safe or secure. I’m living in a minefield.
What will that do to my expectations of dealing with other adults? Will it teach me trust or mistrust? Will it teach me to be open and honest, or to be very reserved and cautious, even to the extent that I can’t start a proper relationship? There’s no decent chance of intimacy because I’ll be so mistrustful until you prove to me you won’t get angry even when I do things wrong. I may be unfair to every potential partner.
So we’ve got security and safety. What else will happen to a child who sees that Mom and Dad infrequently get angry and frequently control themselves? They’ll feel comfortable and happy in the home, much more likely to feel happy at home. They can feel happy the rest of the time when Mom and Dad aren’t angry, but if there’s consistency—and I’m not talking about all the time; there can be outbursts and even exchanges of sharp words—if Mom and Dad are working on it, they can also apologize to each other in front of the kids. Then the kids are learning that part of reality is that differences sometimes explode in each other’s faces, but Shalom, making peace, being respectful, and apologizing can also be the real reality afterward. That will bring them back to security and safety.
What else is on the upside of noticing and seeing this, even if children don’t verbalize it? They experience it, understand it, and know where their father is holding in the emotional strength required to control this particular trait. A child sees Mom come home very frustrated after a difficult day at work, a difficult day shopping, dealing with carpools, getting kids off to school, and so on. She pours her heart out to Dad. Perhaps instead of trying to find solutions and offering ways to correct the situation—which can be frustrating because she just wants to let it out and be heard—the child watches Dad: “Oh really? Oh, that’s terrible. Oh, I’m sorry. [Unclear empathetic response.]” Dad is feeling Mom’s pain. “Oh, what a difficult day you’ve had.”
Then Mom listens to Dad: [unclear response about the deal falling through after all that you put in]. The child sees caring, empathy, and understanding: real feelings of pain and joy that they share. The child learns that if I don’t like the way you were hurt, and you’re responding to adversity or challenges at work, with co-workers, or with extended family, and I see that there’s a team here—that we’re not on different sides, but working through it together—I’ll feel much more confident that when it’s my turn to be part of a partnership, we’ll be a team. We won’t try to resolve or trivialize the other person’s difficulties or pain, or offer solutions when that isn’t what the other spouse is looking for in sharing. That’s solution mode, perhaps for later. Right now, I’m just telling you, “I’m bleeding over here. I’m bleeding over here.” Don’t start with a Band-Aid. I’ve told you where I’m bleeding, in all these different places. Don’t start. I just want to share the pain right now, and sometimes the sharing is healing in itself. So we’re better preparing our child for healthy relationships in adolescence and adulthood.
What else is on the upside? Self-esteem. Why is Shalom in the home, why is less anger in the home, going to improve my child’s self-esteem? Excellent. I’ll give you an example. Let’s say I look at myself with low self-esteem. I’ll compare myself to a car. I know it’s a ridiculous example in America, but imagine a person who identifies himself with the car he drives. Imagine someone is driving a 67, right? [Unclear comparison about the car and whether its driver would care.] I mean, let's face it, you can't even count all the dents with a calculator. It’s a ’67 Chevy; it’s all falling apart anyway. But if this person is a Rolls-Royce, can I scratch the Rolls-Royce? Can I feed it the wrong fuel? No. You can’t speak to a Rolls-Royce. “I’m a Rolls-Royce! Don’t you know what I am? You can’t feed me that food, that information, those insults. No! I don’t buy that!”
If I’m shouted at, I’m basically being told I’m a ’67 Chevy. I might not realize I have the engine of a Rolls-Royce, but I won’t drive this car with the expectation of what it can really do, because I’m unaware of the engine inside. It’s been treated like a Chevy on the outside. Those who looked at me never really helped me identify my true virtues, or the power of my engine inside to get me places. No, I’ve been treated like a Chevy. Is that going to affect my self-esteem? Absolutely.
My self-esteem will get a boost just from the fact that you don’t get angry with me even when you’re disappointed, even when I let you down. You understand and realize it was painful for me, too, and instead of screaming, “You didn’t get an A? I can’t believe I sat with you for three hours last night helping with your stupid math, and you got a C! What’s the matter with you?” how about, “Son, did you try your best?” “Dad, I swear I tried my best.” “Son, I’m proud of you. That’s an A in my eyes.” “Really, Dad?” “Absolutely.” “Thanks, Dad.” What does that say? Oh! A little scary, right? Is the child going to feel mediocre, or is it safe? [The source’s wording about the child’s reaction to the grade is unclear.] “I’m still good. I’m still going to go for that A. I’m still going to go for that A.”
No kid ever came home and said, “What’s the matter, son? Are you all depressed about how many times I told you to be positive in life?” “I failed chemistry.” “Son, you’ve got to be positive.” “I’ve done. I’m positive. I failed chemistry.” We’ve got to build that child’s self-esteem. Even if I do nothing more than control my anger, I’ll be building my child’s self-esteem.
What else is on the upside? What else is on the upside of a child noticing that Mom and Dad are struggling to control their anger, the outbursts are less frequent, and even if, God forbid, there are outbursts and sometimes sharp words, the parents apologize—not out of weakness, but out of strength—and continue? Yes, sir? On the other side, the child will be more motivated to try when, instead of being berated and shouted at, they see that it’s reality: sometimes you win, sometimes you fail, and you start again and try again.
Instead of screaming at my son, I say, “Look, son, you can still do it. I believe in you. Mom and Dad believe in you. And I’m going to tell you this: I don’t care how much it costs me or how many times you fail. If you’re doing your best, I know that in the end you’re going to win.” A vote of confidence will make the child feel much more motivated. There are many other instances, like sibling rivalry and social interaction, where parents can be disappointed and scream, or be disappointed and still give a vote of confidence.
I’ll start to close with the following. Number one, simply being aware of how far-reaching the negative effects of anger are is an accomplishment in itself. Without that awareness, my anger can continue unbridled and unchecked, without my thinking it’s really that harmful. But when we start brainstorming, in 15, 20, or 30 minutes, we start painting a very dismal, almost depressing picture of how far-reaching anger can really be.
On the other hand, we have to believe that anger is a choice, and that I can choose to control my anger. If I really knew I was going to make millions of dollars, if I really knew the value of life is far greater than money, and the value of a happy child—forget about healthy and alive, which is valuable in and of itself. If you don’t believe me, ask Christopher Reeve. Just being alive and healthy is already a great thing. But being happy and healthy is even more valuable. Christopher Reeve would give everything he ever made in homes, money, and fame just to have his body back in full. How much more so to be a happy person, and how much more so to have happy children.
As much as I’d like to dream that the analogy is true, in reality it falls short. Labriut, bless you. The analogy of $100,000 each time I control myself falls short of the true value of conquering one’s anger. Conquering one’s anger brings not only benefits my children will reap, and not only benefits my wife or husband will reap, but also the benefits of who I become when I’m not an angry person. It affects how I go to sleep at night and how I stand up to the challenge of, God forbid, a financial loss. I could easily blame the partner and workers, and those who didn’t fulfill their part of the deal. I could easily complain, blame, and become resentful and bitter. But the more I learn to forgive and forget and continue with life, the more I can salvage, if there’s something to salvage. If not, bitterness, anger, frustration, and resentment aren’t supporting me; they’re destroying me. They can destroy my health, my family, my marriage, and my relationship with my children.
We know that anger has that power. And yet, controlling anger also has the power to create trust, rapport, self-esteem, motivation, and a feeling of being safe and secure, besides saving a child from all that negativity. Who we become is the greatest reward of all.
I want to end with the following. What are we supposed to do when we feel anger? Number one: silence. That’s not always easy, but silence is best. It’s the optimum. I’m offering it as the first strategy our sages identify as the best response to someone’s anger. It’s silence. Why? Because the person is left with their anger and I’m not feeding it. I’m not defending myself or attacking back. Usually, when I defend and attack back, does that create silence in them? Or are they more likely to try to justify their anger with even more proof that it was justified and that my position is wrong? So the first response is silence. Why? Not out of weakness, but out of strength. Talk about it later, when emotions have calmed down and the tension is lower.
If a spouse or child starts to notice that, instead of getting angry, someone is silent and then talks about it later, they’ll start to learn: are Mom and Dad out of control or in control? They’re in control. The reason they’re quiet isn’t that they’re timid, wimpy, or afraid. They’re going to talk about it. Uh-oh, I know why he’s quiet: he doesn’t want to feed the provocation or turn this into a battle. He’s going to do it tomorrow. What will that child or spouse have: less respect or more respect? At first, they might not like it. They’ll get even angrier. “Answer me! Why are you so quiet?” They’ll get really angry. But is it possible that as they realize the other person is responding with silence so as not to feed the anger, they’ll see what happens at the next level?
Respond with a gentle voice, even though that can be even more provocative. Answering with a gentle voice will bring down the intensity, tension, tone, and decibels a whole lot, because it’s very hard for me to continue being angry with you when you respond with a gentle voice. A gentle voice demonstrates that you’re in control. Out of control? No, you’re in control. Oh, you’re in control. Anger is about being out of control, so I end up having to respect you all over again.
One possibility is silence. A second possibility is a gentle voice. A third possibility is humor. Make a joke, not sarcastically, but simply to break the tension. “Oh, I forgot my appointment with the doctor four months ago.” “Are you nuts? I’m angry with you.” “I just thought you’d find it funny.” Whatever you do to make a joke, don’t be sarcastic; just show that you’re not intimidated by the anger. Intimidation feeds anger, because I’m teaching you that when I’m intimidated, your anger is doing what you want it to do. You want me to relent, agree, back off, not go there, or not talk about him, her, the kids, or the finances. So you use anger, and my intimidation teaches you that anger works.
If I make a joke, if I’m humorous, I’m showing you I won’t be intimidated. It’s the opposite of being intimidated; it’s not taking it seriously. Ultimately, anger isn’t serious. It’s a weak attempt to avoid communication. Even though, in my anger, I’m communicating what I’m angry about, it’s actually weakness: it stops real intimacy. My anger is really saying, “I don’t want you to talk to me in a mature way. I’m afraid that when you talk to me about my finances, or this weakness in how I raise the kids, or how I deal with your mother or father, I’m not ready to talk about it maturely. You’re going to reject me when you see that all I can do is get angry, frustrated, and upset.”
When the other person shows they won’t reject me or get angry back, and they’re humorous, silent, or speaking in a gentle voice, those are three very powerful ways. Another possibility is the following. I’m just going to give the last point now, and this is the point I mentioned at the very beginning. I’m going to share, for a few moments, the power of a smile, a greeting, a hug, and a kiss.
I mention it for the following reason. The Zohar, the Kabbalistic works, tell us that the message behind the hug and the kiss is that this is as far as two human beings can go on the physical level. This is as far as the boundaries and limitations of two bodies allow, barring physical intimacy between husband and wife. A kiss and a hug are as far as two bodies can go. They’re an attempt to penetrate, but you can’t get beyond that.
A much higher level of communication, on another level and appreciated much more deeply, is speech. When two people hug and kiss, their bodies are attempting to penetrate. When a person speaks, speech reflects thoughts and emotions. That speech is communicated to the ears and eyes of the receiver, and goes into their thoughts and emotions. That’s a much deeper penetration than a hug and kiss.
A smile is without even talking. A smile says, “I’m happy you exist in my life.” That’s what a smile is. That’s why, when you greet them and say, “Shalom,” “Good Shabbat,” or “Hi, how are you doing?” and they walk right by you, you wonder, “I’m sure I said it loudly enough. Didn’t they hear? Did they say it loudly enough? I’m not sure.” There’s a feeling of rejection. Honestly, I could feel good about myself and still feel rejected that this— But why? Why should I feel rejected? He wouldn’t have made me wiser if he’d said, “Yeah, how are you doing? Good day. Have a great day.” I would have got nothing from the exchange, so why am I upset? Why am I hurt?
The answer is that his silence, when he didn’t say hello back to me, was a very loud statement: “I don’t exist in his life.” That’s an insult. He doesn’t recognize or acknowledge that I’m alive and part of his life. Of course I’m hurt. That’s why a smile and a greeting are the word Shalom. Shalom doesn’t only mean peace; it means complete. In what way? We feel complete with ourselves when we’re honest: honest about what comes out of our mouths and about our facial expressions, and honest with our children. That means, “I love you because you’re intrinsically lovable. I’ll never stop loving you. I’ll love you forever, no matter what.” That could be a greeting, or the way we send our kids to sleep: “I’ll always love you, no matter what. No matter what means even when you don’t do what you’re told, even if you don’t do well in school, I’ll always love you, no matter what.” That says the child is lovable without conditions.
My smile, my kiss, my hug, and my greeting—“Hi, how are you doing?”—come before we get into deep rapport, deep conversations, outings, sharing things together, going places, taking them for pizza, taking them bowling, and all the good things that build self-esteem and rapport between parents and children. Before we get into all that positive stuff, just a smile, a happy greeting, and a heartfelt hug and kiss is enough over time to build in that child the feeling that I’m worth something to my parents, I’m loved by my parents, and I’m appreciated by my parents.
Even when the kid sees that a whole lot is going on in their life, if he comes home and gets the same love and loving gestures, it’s because my kid has nothing to do with what’s going on in the rest of my life. My kid is intrinsically lovable and worth my greeting and my smile. He’s a greater, more valuable asset than anything else I’m doing the rest of the day. Those four things alone can help remind us that my anger isn’t real. My real child is lovable, regardless of what they’ve said or done that might frustrate me.
I thank you for your patience.