What triggers your anger?

For a long time, I've known what my anger trigger is: control. When somebody is trying to control me in some way, or exert their authority over me, I get quite pissed off. My father was very controlling, and my childhood was spent under his authoritarian thumb.

Even though I'm an adult now, and have control over my own life, when someone tries to tell me what to do, my limbic brain kicks into panic mode. All it hears is "Daddy" giving me an order. And it reacts. Boy, does it react! Even if the person is someone who cares about me, and is trying to give me loving advice, I bristle. And I get mad.

This all sounds pretty simple, but it took me an astoundingly long time (years, decades) to figure it out. With Husband No. 1, I re-enacted all the scenes of dominance and control I had suffered through with Dad. You can guess how that marriage turned out.

Husband No. 2 is my polar opposite. Which makes him a great role model for me. If someone is trying to push him around, or tell him what to do, he doesn't lose it. He sits down and talks with them. Calmly.

In his quiet, gentle way, he has helped me own up to my problem. With him by my side, I first realized what it was that made me so mad. I'll never forget the first time. It was about 20 years ago, so the details are sketchy but I know it was in a Sears store and I know it had to do with a vacuum we had brought in for repair. The clerk was trying to, shall we say, redirect me in some way. My response? I exploded, like a volcano.

Well, no, not like a volcano. Volcanoes smolder a long time before they blow. This was more like an earthquake -- sudden, and vicious. I started yelling at that poor Sears clerk in a way that even I couldn't believe.

Hubby just stood there, watching me, aghast. I felt sick. But it didn't stop me from yelling.

Sigh...

Eventually I learned that my husband had his own anger trigger, though. In his case, it's inanimate objects. When a hammer hits his thumb, he becomes (briefly) irate. When a mower won't start or a grocery bag spills or his glasses disappear, he takes it personally. Me? I could care less about such things. Doesn't make me mad at all.

There's also the sports problem. As I write this, he's getting very upset at a batter who just struck out in the World Series Game 2. He's standing in front of the TV, muttering curses and sighing. But that is a whole 'nother topic for another time....

Everyone has their "sore spot," I guess -- the thing that pushes their buttons. Sometimes these things are shadows from our childhood. Or phobias we've developed thanks to the stresses of adult life. Or unresolved issues that have dogged us for years.

What's yours?

Backsliding

Fell off the wagon, so to speak, yesterday.

And now that I look back on it, I realize it was my typical anger episode -- all about control. I know that control is my big trigger. I'm going to write more about anger triggers soon, but for now I just want to describe the curious (and somewhat hopeful) thing that happened.

It was raining hard late in the afternoon and my two older kids were going to have to walk home from the bus stop in the rain, without umbrellas. I decided to drive and pick them up so they wouldn't get wet. I left the house a couple of minutes earlier than the school bus usually arrives. But as I pulled out of the driveway, I could see them about 50 feet up the street, trotting along getting soaked. The bus had dropped them off early, dammit. I drove up beside them and they just stood and looked at me like I was nuts. I said, "Do you want to get in the car?"

"No," said one of them. "I'll just walk the rest of the way."

And that was it. Simple. No big deal. No one's fault. But I had lost "control" of the situation; I'd driven halfway up the street for nothing. The bus had come too early. I went right into rage, popped the truck into reverse and slammed my foot on the gas pedal. Tires squealing on the wet pavement, surprised looks on my daughters' faces.

By the time I pulled back into the driveway, just a few seconds later, I was already realizing how absurd this was. How utterly UNworthy of an anger attack. Nothing had happened, really -- other than the situation turning out differently than I had planned/wanted.

And just that quickly, I was done. I didn't need the anger anymore. I had the sick, guilty feeling I always have after blowing up. But I also knew that at least this time I caught it just a little bit sooner than normal. And I didn't yell at the kids, thank God.

That's something, right? A slight improvement? An ounce of hope?