Does Anger take away Agency?

"A cunning part of [Satan’s] strategy is to dissociate anger from agency, making us believe that we are victims of an emotion that we cannot control." Elder Lynn G. Robbins

This puts exactly into words what today's blog post focuses on.
Let me begin first with a story.

One day a woman, with an ever-growing sense of fear of possible domestic violence or falling into the path of collateral damage, asked her husband, "So, um," her words echo softly as to avoid coming across as accusatory, "sometimes I feel like you get so angry that you might hit me. Do you think you would?"
His face is actually quite soft, controlled. "Why would you ask that?"
"Because you have these eruptions of anger out of nowhere, and you throw things, and I'm just scared that one of these times you might hit me. And if you did...there is no second chances."
He shakes his head, "that's not a fair question."
"Not fair?"
"Yeah, not fair. I mean, yeah, sometimes you make me so angry that I want to hit you. And I'm sure I'd feel bad after I hit you. So it's not fair that I wouldn't get a second chance. It's really a loaded question."

Now...whether or not you see the question of the wife as fair, or the response of the husband as valid, the point of this story is a HUGE lesson. When did justification of our emotions become acceptable for UNACCEPTABLE actions. As the quote says above...strategy of Satan is to dissociate anger from agency, MAKING US BELIEVE that we are victims of an emotion we cannot control.

In domestic violence/abuse cases there are an overwhelming majority of events that led to horrible mistreatment all the while the person abusing says something like this, "Well, I was really angry, so he/she deserved to be called/hit..." fill in the blanks

There are a lot of you ladies (and some men) that are in this very situation. In the midst of abuse you even begin to find yourselves questioning what is RIGHT versus what is absolutely WRONG. Abuse is NOT justifiable. Anger is an emotion we ALL experience, however, there is a very definitive line. 

The scary thing with anger is it transforms our spirit. We not only begin to justify our actions, but then carry them out. The power of anger is that you begin to become someone you are not - IF you allow this emotion to rule you.

So how do we fight that anger? Some people have extreme problems with anger to the point that intense therapy is necessary, and until this happens, the cycle of abusive anger will continue. They will not allow themselves to control the distinction between right and wrong but instead will allow the emotion to override their morale and drive their actions with reckless abandon.

Then there are the majority of people that feel anger creep in and see two paths: a festering monster to feed or an emotion to learn to MASTER and find peace.

The anger I felt very literally began to harden my heart, and it was a change I could feel. With it brought unhappiness, resentment, thoughts of revenge, and much darkness that overshadowed the path towards peace. Part of grief is anger, and when I realized that this step was necessary and 100% O.K. to experience (AND noticing that I was ALLOWING it to change me), I made a conscience, consistent effort to fight against the beast and push through the dark emotion toward healing.

One trap of anger is the need to justify, as I mentioned. But in my case the justification came with mulling over the past, the anger bubbling. Then came resentment that life hadn't gone as it should have (y'know that perfect world we think exists) and at that point hate came. My uncle said to me, "you have to experience anger. It's natural. But when you stop working through it and progressing and it instead consumes you then that's when you know you have gone too far."



Again...Satan's cunning plan is to make us believe that anger takes our agency, but nothing takes away our agency. Take again this wise counsel from Elder Lynn G. Robbins,
" We hear, “I lost my temper.” Losing one’s temper is an interesting choice of words that has become a widely used idiom. To “lose something” implies “not meaning to,” “accidental,” “involuntary,” “not responsible”—careless perhaps but “not responsible.”

“He made me mad.” This is another phrase we hear, also implying lack of control or agency. This is a myth that must be debunked. No one makes us mad. Others don’t make us angry. There is no force involved. Becoming angry is a conscious choice, a decision; therefore, we can make the choice not to become angry. We choose!"

And also from this incredible talk:

Unchecked, anger can quickly trigger an explosion of cruel words and other forms of emotional abuse that can scar a tender heart. It is “that which cometh out of the mouth,” the Savior said; “this defileth a man” (Matt. 15:11). 

Choice and accountability are inseparable principles. Because anger is a choice, there is a strong warning in the (family) proclamation “that individuals … who abuse spouse or offspring, … will one day stand accountable before God.” 

One of the best things I did to work through anger was to accept the past and with that acceptance realize that though deep, dark hurtful things happened, my brain couldn't FIX the past. I had to STOP saying I wish this, and I wish that, and instead say every single day, "I can't fix the past. I am moving forward." No matter how much we look at the past, it will not change. So do what you can in this moment to create a brighter future. Don't wallow in the anger of your past.

As all emotions are to be experienced we must also realize that it is the mastering of these emotions that will lead us to developing God-like attributes, which is the ultimate goal of our learning here on this earth.

 

Computer issue and Fat thumbs

My computer is not connecting to the BLOGGER website and the idea of writing a post using my phone with fat finger typing is not at all enticing. Let me show you what I mean...

For aome reason it seems like my finges are incapavle of properly tyoing on my phone, most of the time I spe d goi g back and correcting the words that have been improperky tyoed due to fat thumbs, which have been inherited feom somewhere alo g the ancestral genetartion of fat fingers. It is also whete i must have gotten my beick-like feet, which makes weading fabylous pumps difficuly as my pinkie toes fwel as if they are at risk of losing a spot o  my foot.

So, I gope tgis post properky illistrates just hiw great a problem I have with fat thumb typing as well as wearinf adorable slender fit sandals and pumosn. I hope to fix the comouter problem soon...as for the thumbs and feet, I suppose I am stuck with them!

Femoral Repair No. 2

Rewind a bit. Spring 2004, Salt Lake City, Utah somewhat freshly out of High School and thrown into the real world of work and school. I had known that I would be moving to Arizona some time in May, so for the time I found a job as a hostess and set out to make new friends.

During this time leg aches began in the right leg and I wondered what on earth could be causing the pain. It came at first as merely a nuisance, that same throbbing that was somewhat similar to growing pains. Then the point came where walking from the parking lot and up any stairs increased the pain. Speaking with my mom, she wondered if maybe there was a problem arising with the repair that had been done back in 1992 when I was 7 years old.

When May came and the move from SLC to Arizona was finished, I quickly settled into a routine, yet the leg aches never eased up. After seeing a doctor and receiving advice to continue to go throughout daily exercise to increase exercise, I enrolled in dance at the college. The leg continued to be a painful part of every single day. There were times when hip, thigh, calf and the foot would be so sore (lack of oxygen) that it would become debilitating. It is odd how I don't remember much of this, but I have it written in my journal. And I'm grateful I do.

Finally, in December of 2004 when my parents and I went in for a check-up of the leg and to discuss options with the cardiologist and receive a referral to a surgeon, we were informed that the heart needed another surgery. This is when the fifth heart surgery, previously written about, happened. Though the leg was causing a lot of misery, it had to wait.

While on my honeymoon, just a week after getting married, I received a call from my mom. We were to go home early because the doctor had called my parents. I needed to get back for surgery as soon as possible. I was married July 16th and had my pre-op evaluation and tests done on July 22nd and surgery on July 25th. A big worry was the breathing tube for this surgery as my voice had only been back for a month. If there was trauma to the one working vocal cord, I could very well be a mute forever. We discussed the concern with the surgeon and a smaller breathing tube was used.

This was a 6 week recovery and brought with it one scar laterally down my leg about 3 inches long. A second scar from above the hip wrapping down around my abdomen nearly 8 inches long. When I awoke the wound was extremely swollen and sore, yet I was happy to eventually heal and have the ability to walk and no longer be in pain.

Within 1 week after the surgery I received a call from Wells Fargo offering me an interview. A HUGE blessing. We (my husband and I) had been praying that I would be able to find a job with health benefits for myself and for him as our biggest goal was for me to forego going to school at the time and support us financially so that he could finish his bachelors and then continue into a masters degree.

I didn't know what to say to the manager on the phone, but went with the truth, "I just got out of the hospital from having a surgery done on my leg and can't sit for very long. I really want this job."

The manager didn't mind one bit. I wasn't allowed to drive for six weeks, and so my aunt picked me up on interview morning and drove me in. The interview went very well and on the spot they offered me a position. We discussed different start training dates (I had to drive to Phoenix and train). I was able to wait to train for a month and when I began I was fully healed.

This was an incredible blessing and I look back and am amazed how Heavenly Father had such a huge role in providing for me and my new husband at a difficult time.

Thank you

In the process of writing this BLOG there have been times I felt like it was just a web address taking up space and if the sharing of personal experiences were doing any good for anyone at all. Then I came across The Hiding Place, a book that I felt drawn to the other night. Weirdly so because I hadn't thought of this book for several months, if not more than a year.

When the page opened up to a quote in the book I realized that whether or not anyone out there is reading this, these experiences were not meant for me alone, just as YOUR experiences are not meant only for you. We all gain strength from so many wonderful and inspirational people and the sharing of their 'trials' or 'faith'. In whatever way, even the smallest, I hope those of you reading will come to an understanding that you are NEVER alone in life. That the ONLY reason this BLOG even exists is because of a very firm spiritual nagging for many, many months that it needed to happen.

I have received personal messages from a number of people, and each message has given me the courage to keep moving forward and to keep sharing.

At this time I am trying to decide what to share next, you see, nothing I share is done without a lot of thought and prayer. Many of these experiences are very painful, so bear with me in this journey. The road ahead is bright and clear.

The Blue Bike

For two years Elijah has ridden a pink bike, bought at a yard sale. There are stickers on it and it has been through much use. And ever since he got his bike he has asked me, "Mommy, can we please get a blue bike." You see, blue is his most favorite color in the whole world. At dinner if the blue kiddie plate is clean I prepare his meal on it. If the blue plate is dirty, I will wash it just for my Elijah, because he lights up when he sees that he gets to eat off a blue plate. It's the little things in life, right?

One time at Wal-mart I passed the spray-paint aisle and instead of continuing forward, I stopped, got an attendant and had them unlock the cabinet. Deep, beautiful blue. I had plans to paint that bike.
Then time passed. And it seemed that this bike would never get painted and Elijah continued to happily ride his bike but still look up at me with his amazing, brown-puppy eyes and ask, "Mommy, when can we paint my bike blue? For my next birthday? For Christmas?"

Just a bit ago his birthday was approaching and I knew...he was going to get a bike. And it HAD to be blue. His pink bike was now too small so really, it was the perfect opportunity. As a single mom I planned and saved to purchase the bike, knowing it would cost about $70-$100 for a nice bike. While searching at the store it became apparent that the green or silver choice would not do. Not to mention, the store had only two bikes in the appropriate size! "Check online," suggested the associate with his blue vest and cheerful smile.

Then a voice whispered. Patience. Just wait.
Me...wait? Admittedly I can be a bit hasty and impatient but nevertheless, I followed that voice and began to search for the other items on my list. With a hand around my wrist I was stopped by a friend of mine, a sweetie I get to see often while at the gym. She asked what I had going on and with a sigh I recounted the frustrations of finding Elijah an 18" blue bike with coaster brakes. She tilted her head and smiled wide, "I have a bike...in fact I have wanted to get rid of it but can't find anyone that needs it. I was about to take it to donation. Want it?"

My heart swelled. "Send me a pic, I would love to take it if it's the right size." At this point I knew that blue would not be an option, but maybe he would like another fabulous color of the rainbow.

When the text came later that day I opened it and felt my heart swell. A blue, 18" bike with coaster brakes. Immediately I knew who to thank.

God is always mindful. He is SO GOOD. This little blue bike seems trivial, but it's the little things, and we have a God that KNOWS how important those little things are. Especially for this momma who desires to show her boys that they are beyond priceless. They are Princes. They are their momma's heart.

Patience without Words

While working at Wells Fargo in the spring of 2006, things in life were going more smoothly. It had been almost an entire year since the last heart surgery and the leg was doing much better since the repair surgery just a week after getting married (that's for another post).

The use of the vocal cord had come back and though it hurt quite often, it was a huge blessing to be able to speak again. Coming into the branch, a young man in his early twenties accompanied by his father approached my teller counter. He was there to make a transaction and the nervousness in his eyes shone in the lack of confidence of his stance. My heart immediately softened toward him.
A long line formed quickly, only a few of us open on the teller line.
The young man didn't speak, he looked to his father for help, and the man quickly took over. We completed the transaction and the line continued to move through.
It wasn't much later that the young man came to the branch again, a few weeks maybe. This time he waited in the long line for his turn. He ended up before me once again, this time alone. More people gathered to make deposits and withdrawals (most people aren't very happy when it comes to money, UNLESS it involves getting more of it!).
The young man scanned the counter and didn't see what he was looking for.
"You need to withdraw or deposit?" I asked.
He shook his head and took a moment to think. Then he used his fingers to mime holding a pen and writing. I thought it odd that he wasn't using his words. "Here you are." With a quick flick of the wrist he began to write what he needed help with. It's been so long and I can't remember what we discussed but I do recall that it took some time working with him. He wrote a few words, turned the paper to me, then I relayed the answer by talking.
He tried to say a few words and they were unintelligible, almost when someone that is deaf tries to speak. However, he was not deaf. He could hear just fine. He was a mute.
We were low on tellers due to lunch break, and most people waiting in line began to moan and groan. A passive-agressive way of saying, 'This is really annoying that this man is taking so much of my time'.
The look on the young man's face was slight embarrassment for the hassle everyone was making of his lengthy transaction, yet there was a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes as we continued to write back and forth. I made sure to smile big and reassure him through each step.
My tears were in the corners of my eyes, my heart aching for this young man. Here I was just almost a year ago unable to speak, worried that I may never have full use of my voice ever again, the frustrations of that situation embedded in my memory - and across from me this man would never be able to speak. I wanted to reach over the counter and hug him. I didn't, and maybe I should have. It's hard to say if it would have been a strange gesture or not for him.

What I also thought was that those standing in line could use a little empathy, compassion and patience. Is this life about hurrying through day-to-day, shoving aside another person that needs our love and understanding? Is it about moaning and groaning in the face of someone's challenge because it is inconveniencing us?
What is this life about? How many people on a day-to-day basis do we interact with and how do we treat and respond to them? Some people are rude ALL the time, some people are SELFISH and INCONSIDERATE. And that is unfortunate for them. Their entire life they will rarely ever FEEL the immense joy of what happens when a moment is taken with a stranger to help them feel safe, accepted and loved. To moan and groan at someone else's challenge because it inconveniences us is purely selfish.

There is more I will share on this subject in a future post because I was once in his position, unable to speak. I never imagined that people could be so horrible, inconsiderate and rude straight to my face for a hardship that I NEVER asked for. In a way it helped me grow a backbone and realize that I could either listen to what they had to say or I could discard it. Many times I had to make a choice: be offended or not be offended.

This young man who was so kind-hearted, touched my heart and uplifted me! He was a blessing to me that day. We interacted several times, he always waited for my teller window and he always greeted me with a smile. Many times I think back to those moments and wonder how he is doing and hope that he is being shown kindness.

Take a moment over the next few days and really pause and listen to the tone of voice and words that are used with those you love, are acquainted with, and even strangers.

One of my favorite talks Tongue of Angels by Jeffrey R. Holland

Recoverying the Heart

Once home from the hospital, 5th open heart surgery completed, the time came to heal. Due to the intense, long recovery ahead, I had not enrolled in college for the semester. It would take at least six weeks to begin to feel strength return.
At the time I lived at home, my two younger siblings still attending High School, and shared the 'tall' bed with my younger sister. It quickly became apparent that getting in and out of a high bed post chest surgery would not work. My mom transferred me to the lower bed.
For more than two weeks my mom would dress and undress me. Shower me. Poor my milk in my cereal. Help me to lie down in bed and to get out of bed. Basically, everything I did was with assistance.
I remember thinking that lifting a gallon of milk wasn't such a big deal and so with my 'Hulk-like' strength I wrapped my fingers around the handle and began to lift the jug to pour. The gallon felt like a 50pound anchor super-glued to the counter and I dropped the gallon, spilling milk everywhere. My grip strength wasn't even strong enough to hold on. My sternum stretched and seemed as if it were on the verge of ripping in half. I stayed away from proving my strength, or lack of, and tried to heed the doctors orders from there on out.
In the evenings and sometimes in the nice afternoon, my dad and I would take little walks up and down the sidewalk moving at a record slow, even for a snail, pace. "We went further that time, dad." I would say. He would nod, "you're doing really well, Shel," and then with exhaustion I would turn around and go back in the house where I would slowly lower myself into the chair.
The doctor put me on anti-depressants for after the surgery, and I thought such a thing was ridiculous. Until I realized the trauma. The heart is many things - literal and figurative. It is the VERY heart of the body physically, and it is figuratively the HEART of the body. It is the Soul. With the trauma of physically handling the heart, there comes a lot of emotional trauma.
The blues set-in with such heaviness at one point that I found myself staring for hours at the walls, wanting to go on no more. Life had no meaning. Here I was almost like a baby, unable to take care of myself. My mom would set up a lawn chair out on the patio before leaving for work (my dad was home during the day) and say, "When I get home I will ask you if you went outside and got sunshine. You better say 'yes'."
So...doing as mother told me, I would trudge outside and ever-so slowly lower myself into the chair and stare at the sky. I suppose it was better than staring at the walls. In all honesty, I did not handle recovery well emotionally.
There was one of the wires inside that began to poke from beneath the skin. The cardiologist advised that there are cases where a wire has come loose and poke through the skin. Around the wire, the skin became translucent and it frightened me to think that the wire could come through. Still to this day, if I lay on my belly on a floor, the wires closing the sternum are so close to the skin that I can feel them against the flooring. Putting a pillow between myself and the floor seems to help.
When the body began to rid itself of the extremely heavy doses of medication, my body went in to a withdrawal. The headaches came on gradually, until one day the throbbing was beyond any headache I had ever known. There are people that suffer from debilitating migraines, and I honestly do not understand how they cope. The pain of this headache debilitated me and then intensified so quickly that I began vomiting. With each heave, I held the bowl with one hand and placed the other firmly against my sternum. The seams of my freshly glued skin felt as if they were tearing.  I had a priesthood blessing for the headache and within minutes it was completely gone.
At night in my sleep, my sister later told me (post recovery) that most nights she would wake-up to me crying. She would look over and see that I was still asleep, yet I was crying and muttering, "It hurts. It hurts."
I don't remember the exact pain anymore, just the vivid thought over and over, "if I ever have to do this again, I think I would rather die." To say that the pain was the worst pain experienced by the human body would grossly exaggerated, however, it was enough to bring me to tears many of the days.
During this recovery my voice was also greatly damaged still. Most of the time my voice was a hoarse whisper, and when I tried to use it too much, it would go away completely. I tried to communicate by writing but got very impatient and ended up hurting myself worse by trying to force the speaking. I got in to a habit of taking tiny sips of water, holding it in my mouth, then preparing and swallowing. This was to avoid immediately vomiting the water back up as it would go down my wind pipe if I wasn't careful.
After about 4 weeks I started attending my parents church family congregation, then around 8 weeks started going back to the Young Singles Ward with my fiance.
I am not sure how people go through a procedure like this, or similar, without the support of family and without the support of the Lord. It was, up to that point in my life, one of the most difficult and painful experiences.
Now as I look back, I know that the physical pain of the body can never compare to the emotional pain of the body. One thing that amazes me is how much our Spirit can hurt, badly enough that at times feels as if our heart is breaking.
This pain of the spirit and emotional heartbreak would come later in my life, but not much.