Now I wonder. I can choose to be hurt or angry -- that is true. And if the other person will take the time to resolve it with me, hurt is easier for the other person to feel and to resolve. Hurt inspires guilt and, voila, the conflict can be resolved.
But what if the other person won't work through things? What if he just disappears? Furthermore, hurt gives the other person power.
Hurt leaves me vulnerable. It leaves me questioning myself and my validity. It leaves me insecure. It is directed inward. Hurt avoids blame, but, somehow, the blame falls on me because I know what I could have done differently. Hurt burns slowly, steadily, insidiously.
Anger burns hot, but then it is done. Anger lets the other go, because you see his flaws, and not your own. Anger is directed outward.
But when anger is directed at me, I shrink. My parents practiced what they preached, and I didn't grow up with anger. Criticism that cut at my sense of self as a lovable and worthwhile person, guilt galore, but never anger.
I experience two kinds of anger directed towards me--that which leaves me vulnerable and that which leaves me self-righteous. The former makes me frantic. There are maybe half-a-dozen people in the world who have the power to direct that kind of anger at me (and, frankly, with a few exceptions, like my writing, which leaves me very vulnerable, my weight (a cliche, I know)those are the only people that can criticize me and have me really feel it). But criticism from them doesn't make me feel as frantic as their anger. If those people are angry at me, I will do whatever I can to make their anger stop.
I swore I wouldn't right about John anymore, but I swear too much. John seemed to go straight toward anger (with me it was always more muted--frustration definitely--or he would say "disappointed" which played into my insecurities, but I never saw more than hints of his anger). I went straight for hurt. I apologized a number of times in our relationship. Even if I felt like I we could both share the blame, I'd apologize for my part in that. It was only when he hit the self-righteous side of my anger anger that I couldn't apologize and have it be true, and told him that I wouldn't drop something (I'd set it aside because he was having a very difficult time, but brought up the threat I've always hated when my parents did to me of needing to discuss it later) that he disappeared this last time.
I had also become aware that I had to have this issue, or some issue, resolved my way (not that I won, but that we talked about how we felt and both of us looked calmly at how our words affected the other). I couldn't trust him until he was willing to accept the validity of something he did hurting me. He didn't have to say "I was wrong"--but I needed him to say "I'm sorry you felt hurt."
I was going to write "John hurt me too badly" (with his comments about abstract expressionism) but actually--that isn't true. John insulted me in a place that didn't hurt me too badly, and so I chose that as a place to say "there has to be give and take here--I'm not going to be the one that is always wrong." If it hadn't been a place where I didn't feel my sense of self threatened, if he hadn't been so outrageous in in his insult, I could never have stood up. Always before with John, I'd been so frantic to get my sense of self back that I'd apologized for things that I didn't think were all my fault.
I think John and I pushed each other's buttons. With him, I fell into my need for male approval and disapproval cutting so deep it threatened the fabric of my center. And clearly, I pushed his buttons in ways I can't articulate for him.
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