It feels like everyone is on their own “healing journey” nowadays. It certainly feels like this is a time of reckoning. And as much as I cringe at the cliche, I sense my ancestral traumas rising to the surface, and I’m on my healing journey, too.
At the forefront of my healing path the last few years has been a boxing match with my own anger (read PART 1). We’ve sparred many rounds, and only recently have I felt like the tides have turned and I may be able to win the match. Whatever the outcome though, I don’t want my anger to go away. If I did, I would have to give back my Gestalt coaching certifications because it would mean casting out a very big part of my whole. Instead, after the match, I hope we can shake hands like true champions and stay friends. Because in the end, it’s been a great battle.
Lately, it’s not unusual to find me screaming at the top my lunges into a pillow (or couch, or bed, or bundled up sweatshirt…) The process includes writhing in a cathartic pain and most of the time leaves me sweating in the fetal position. I’m sure most therapists and anger management counselors would commend this work as a useful outlet. Along with hitting a punching bag and going for a bike ride, this sort of exercise has long been prescribed for those of us with a propensity for temper tantrums. But even if it had been prescribed to me a year ago, I wouldn’t have been able to do these exercises. My anger was inaccessible, stuffed behind walls of shame, embarrassment, and fear. I was only able to access my anger by shifting my state, which I did through holotropic breath work.
The Session
I arrived to the session with a healthy dose of skepticism. “I’ve tried it all” my ego boasted. “Most healing ceremonies are a bunch of crap.” Thank you, protection mechanism.
The group partnered up. Each partner would take a turn breathing and “spotting.” I spotted first. When it was time for me to breathe, it only took 15 minutes before I was breathing hard, bathed in the music, ego obliterated. At that point, anger came to visit me on my mat, and my spotter had to enlist the professionals.
Both counselors abandoned their post to steady a large rectangular pillow for me to rail upon for fifteen minutes straight. Exhausted, I felt a cathartic release, and something shifted.
Since then, I’ve been able to hold anger in my pocket like a tool and I’ve been experimenting with its uses. Anger, I’m finding, is a powerful motivator. It pushes me get things done, and helps me engage with my feelings about the broader world. And it’s a beautiful catalyst for loud, deep, emotional expression.
Let’s Play
While our emotions are dynamic and creative, our relationships to them should be intimate. We benefit when we find time to explore their intricacies and marvel at their power. I don’t know exactly why I have a deep - and previously inaccessible - well of anger within me, but I’ve learned to accept it, even play with it. Because the more I play, the better I will get at the anger game.
So our boxing match now looks more like a dance. Anger is a bucking bronco I try to ride before it gleefully bucks me off. It’s a deafening tornado that picks me up and throws me against anything that gets in my way, which is usually just me.
In the tradition of awareness provided by Gestalt, I’m taking notes. I can see anger coming and describe what it feels like and where it is usually located in my body. I’m just a little more cautious with this inquiry, as it leads me back to my body.