Pat Taub
One of the most valuable lessons aging has bestowed on me is the importance of shedding anger. The less anger I hold the more inner peace I possess.
I’ve learned to release a lot of my anger by imagining myself inhabiting the lives of those who have hurt me, resulting in a new story where I experience compassion towards the other. This enlarged perspective has been liberating.
My mother and I six months before she died, July 2000–my pre-blonde days!
My new story path originated through writing about my mother. As I immersed myself in the facts of her life I came to appreciate the circumstances that made her prone to depression and to realize that she didn’t set out to make me insecure when she shut down. She was coping as best she could given her upbringing and circumstances.
A new mother story encouraged me to craft new healing stories about other conflictual relationships in my life. It took me awhile to appreciate that my ex-husband’s drinking was his attempt to cope with his anxieties about his job and life in general rather than being directed at me.
When we divorced I felt vindicated by telling everyone that our marriage ended because of my ex’s alcoholism. This story of bad husband/good wife left me off the hook. It also kept my anger intact. As I honestly reflected on our marriage I was forced to recognize my own part in the unraveling. I was demanding (like my mother!), wanting a perfect-looking home while insisting my ex yield to my parenting style.
My ex, Marvin, sons, Jonathan and David and Granddaughter, Jane, during a 2006 visit to my home
There was a positive outcome to viewing Marvin in a new light. Over time he stopped drinking and as we both dropped our guards, we celebrated family holidays and even babysat the grandkids together. When Marvin died suddenly four years ago I was very grateful that we were in a peaceful place.
Protesting with my ex and the grandkids during one of our babysitting stints, summer 2013
Maybe because mothers find it difficult to accept criticism from their kids, it’s been harder to accept my sons’ critiques. Growing up in a single parent household they accused me of being too preoccupied with my career and feminist activities to be present for them. Looking back I can own my busy schedule while speculating that having just one steady parent generated feelings of abandonment when my sons perceived me as unavailable.
Crafting a new story about someone you’re experiencing tension with involves listening closely and non-judgmentally to the other. I had to learn to hear my sons’ complaints without getting defensive. An unexpected bonus has been one where now they listen more attentively to me.
A compassionate outlook doesn’t mean responding like a doormat or taking abuse from the other. A few of my troubled friendships proved irreparable. As hard as I tried to understand the other, she or he couldn’t shift out of attack mode. Frustration forced me to terminate these friendships. It was painful but I didn’t see any other way to break the cycle of anger.
I’ve discovered that most people have good hearts and want to be liked and valued. We all deserve to be understood. In a time when hate runs rampant the more we can practice compassion and loving kindness, the more society will heal along with our close relationships.
The beloved poet Mary Oliver offers a perspective for the hard work of overcoming personal differences:
“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.”
