If you know me even a little, you're probably aware that I would not consider myself an angry person. That is, by no means, a way for me to brag. Instead, the shape anger takes in my mind shows up in different ways. I am (unfortunately), an angry crier.
So, when navigating the grief of my illness, I had a difficult time identifying what would be considered 'anger.' There was no movie moment where I broke something to release tension or screamed into my pillow for an hour.
I find that, in my experience, this anger has often been toward myself rather than the outward circumstances. The anger exists as a dissatisfaction. "Why can't I do that?" "Why don't I remember that?" "Why am I tired?"
Toward the end of this post, I'll be breaking down how to experience this stage of grief in a way that actually leads somewhere helpful.
Spades
Some time ago, in a rare change of pace, both of my siblings and their spouses came to visit me and my parents. One night, between a table full of metal water bottles and phones discarded to the sides, my brother took it upon himself to teach me and my sister how to play Spades. (Growing up in a very preoccupied family, a lot of card games are new for us now in young adulthood.)
The first round ended in a win, but the next two were losses for my "team." And by the fourth round, my frequent misunderstanding of the rules was annoying me more than anyone else. Spades is not a hard game. It's not hard to get. So why couldn't I keep up? By the fifth round, my frazzled mistakes were becoming a joke that I was able to laugh off with no problem, despite the bit of frustration I had toward myself.
Things changed a minute later. I was in charge of keeping score, and I hadn't given much thought to the struggle I was having simply adding up the numbers at the end of each round. It was strange, but at least no one had noticed; I told myself I was just preoccupied and having a good time.
Then someone pointed out the obvious mistake I'd made in simple addition, and, while I laughed it off with everyone else, my stomach sank. I couldn't even find the error in my math, let alone fix it. That's exactly when it hit me: this was not ditzy or careless. I'd never been ditzy or careless in my life.
That was the moment I realized just how much of my brainpower was gone and how little I could do about it. Lyme disease can affect the brain in a lot of ways that aren't always incredibly noticeable. One pretty common complication, Lyme encephalopathy, can impact working memory, processing speed, concentration, and word recall, and unfortunately, it hits me hard sometimes.
While this symptom has been floating around since I got sick, this was the worst, clearest moment of it I've experienced personally, and I was angry.
Moving Forward
There are two things that, in my opinion, change the game for anger in grief:
1. Objectivity:
One of the most helpful things people have told me is, "Yeah, this is really unfortunate." This is not because I want a pity party, but the very opposite. It's such an objective statement: This is not ideal is simply an acknowledgment of the circumstance, which helps me see the situation for what it is. Instead of frustration toward myself building and building because something is harder than it used to be, seeing the circumstance neutrally allows me to get past it.
"This is hard. What now?" Instead of "I am so upset. This is so unfair, and I wish everything were different."
I'm not boiling in anger and bitterness when I let things be what they are. This translates well in most situations. You can be angry and upset all you want, but to move forward, you have to loosen the grasp your challenge, your past, or your pain has on you. Viewing your circumstance as a factor to work around, but not a horrible, unfair injustice, is, in my opinion, the way to go.
2. Gratitude
We've all heard a middle-aged tee ball coach say, "I could've gone pro...if it weren't for this darn knee." My prayer for anyone reading this is that we are all able to just be grateful for what was instead of living vicariously through the eight-year-olds on our little league team. To appreciate what was and move into the peace waiting.
I have found that, while chapters close, not all of the beauty they provide has to be gone. Truthfully, though, as redundant as it may sound, I struggled less with my frustration when I was able to look back and find some gratitude in what I had, rather than wishing it back. It was and is very healing for me to look back at old pictures: volleyball, time with friends, late study nights, hikes, runs, and everything in between. Things like this give me a lot of joy now, knowing that I had a good thing that changed me for the better.
Finally, take a peek at 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, which I'm fairly certain you've heard a thousand times. Here, the Apostle Paul is writing to the severely persecuted church in Thessalonica, saying, "Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus." I've been thinking about that last part of this verse a lot recently. Paul shifts the focus of this verse from what we should do to who we are. For we cannot follow these commands without the supernatural peace of God's will and the life given to us in His Son. True gratitude and joy are found by looking at what Jesus already accomplished on the cross, which remains unchanged regardless of life's shifting circumstances.
We can, then, be grateful and have access to insurmountable peace wherever we are.
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