Anger, Rage, and Healing a Marriage

The Line

The line in the sand was clear. I could never cross that line. If I did, disaster would surly follow. As long as I didn't cross that line I could take comfort and feel worthy. I could feel accepted, respected, honored, and loved. The one thing that would destroy everything that had become my personal salvation was crossing that line in the sand. This line was a line I drew for myself, out of some moral standard.

I suppose we all have these "lines in the sand" that we dare not cross. Each of us may have drawn different lines. These lines, if not crossed, allow us to feel worthy and righteous. They allow us to live our lives relatively guilt free. They make us feel saved. The strange thing is that we are often blind to, or justify crossing other lines just as long as we don't cross that one big line.

What happens when we do cross that one line in the sand, that we thought we just wouldn't dare cross. I crossed that line in my life. The destruction that followed was real. Everything that kept me from crossing that line came true. The fear and the shame all came true. The one thing that reassured me of my worthiness was shattered. It was gone. In its place was my humiliation and vexation. It all came true. What I didn't expect at all, was an encounter with the real Savoir.

The Setup

The love of my life was a beautiful woman who had been divorced. She had two teenaged children. There was an instant chemistry between us from the first time we met. It took several years, but I finally married her. We were so happy. She was for me my Eve, and I her Adam. We had two daughters of our own. These two girls I loved very much. They were both beautiful like their mother. One was quite like me, the other gregarious like her mom. Life was rough, because of the lack of finances, but we loved each other.

Things became more complicated, as they usually do. I became angry at the petty annoyances that couples typically have. As time went on, the anger grew worse. The causes of the anger were deep rooted in my upbringing. I didn't know how to handle the intense feelings of rage. I keep my problem hidden from people outside of our immediate family. Exposure would mean that I was an abuser. I didn't want the shame of that even though I yelled and name called out of pure frustration. I bullied my wife and daughters until I felt satisfied with my rage. I knew I should get help, but I just didn't. I still felt I was a noble man, deserving of honor and respect because I still hadn't crossed that "line in the sand".

The woman that I was so blessed to have became the object of my bitter wrath. Not all at once but slowly, over time we became enemies. We fought over anything and everything. The loud arguments would only stop when I no longer could keep my rage under control and I let it all out. My wife would back down out of fear. I continued to rage on, often for several days. The ugliness of my heart I poured out, verbally and emotionally abusing her. This became our pattern of living.

The Death of the Angry Man

Seventeen years is a long time to live with an abuser, but my wife stuck by me. My daughters at this time were not so much afraid of me anymore because they knew not to push me too far. My wife and I still had this pattern of arguing. I still exploded and verbally bullied her until she backed down. We did seek counseling, but nothing seemed to be really working. I knew my wife was becoming increasingly distant from me. She and I threatened divorce. And my rage never dissipated.

Then, the angry man, the big bully, the one who had verbally and physically abused me as a boy, had died. He was my father. Strange as it may sound, I loved my father. The last three years of his life was a time of restoration of our relationship. I was thankful for that time. I couldn't have known what his death would stir up in me. So much more anger and rage in my heart. The intensity was far worse than ever before. I had always thought I would never become like my father, but the rude awaking was that I had indeed become him. For the seventeen years of our marriage I managed to keep that reality from coming full circle, but the fits of rage were ever increasing. I was dangerous, and my bride feared for her personal safety. Still, I demanded respect, honor, love, and acceptance from my wife because I still felt worthy, worthy of it, because I hadn't crossed that line.