ALL ABOUT ANGER!!!!!

I spent the first 25 or so years of my life denying my anger, pushing it aside, shoving it down, doing what all women of my generation were taught to do. Then I went into therapy and discovered I actually had anger. I read books about it, and started to stand up for myself. Hubby didn’t exactly like this new person who was not a doormatt, but he learned to live with it and in time all was good again.Then I got pregnant. Suddenly my fury was out of control. I was insane with anger. I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t understand it. Why was I so angry, when I wanted this baby? What was happening to me?
When the baby was born I realized that the anger was FOR my baby. Even sitting there in the hospital bed, feeling tired and fairly safe, I looked at my baby and thought of all of the violent ways I would destroy anyone who attempted to harm this baby of mine. It was animal instinct, pure and simple. But it didn’t seem pure and simple. It seemed out of control and even scary at times.

Those first couple of years most of my anger was directed toward my husband, who tried to tell me what to do with MY baby, and dammit he was wrong and he needed to leave me alone with my baby and do what I needed to do. His mother had told him that Monster was too fat and I needed to start giving him bottles of water in between feedings. I roared at him. He told me I needed to stop sticking my breast in Monster’s face every time he fussed. I fumed at him. Who in the hell was he, telling me to go against my instinct? I knew exactly what to do with my son. Even the pediatrician got involved, by telling my husband that we needed to have Monster CIO and just teach him to sleep through the night. Hubby thought that was a fabulous idea, and in a rare attempt to have harmony in our house, I accepted this. For 15 minutes. My husband was furious with me when I got out of bed and told him, “I’m not doing this to my baby.” And walked into Monster’s room and stuck a breast in his face.

When Monster got big and strong enough to start attacking children and teachers in daycares, some of my anger came out toward the teachers. They were wrong. They were trying to force my child to be a good little sheep and foolow like all the rest and this just was NOT my child. But the largest portion of this anger I directed at myself, because obviously I WAS doing something wrong – my son was out of control. Maybe I did breast feed him too often for too long. Maybe I should have made him cry it out. Maybe I should not have held him so much. Maybe I should have listened to someone – anyone – when they told me I was doing something wrong. But there was something in me that forced me to take care of Monster the way I did. I fought with everyone constantly about how I took care of him. But he seemed to need everything I was doing – all of the over-coddling and all of the middle-of-the-night visits to comfort him. He needed these things. I knew it somehow. My husband was furious with me most of the time for ignoring any parenting advise he gave me. Caring for my son the way I instinctively felt it had to be done meant putting our marriage in jeopardy more than once. I didn’t care.

When we got Monster’s diagnosis, I felt vindicated. Everything I had done with him turned out to be all of the “right” things to do for early intervention of a child with Asperger’s. I don’t know how I knew to do the things I did, but I did them, and I am glad I stood up to everyone and did what I felt to be right. I think my son has a lot of skills and has a good base to work with thanks to how connected he was to me for so long.
It was the anger that made me do what I had to do. If I had not had my anger I would have given in and somehow Monster’s needs would have been forgotten. Our marriage was shaken so completely that even now I would say we aren’t completely recovered. But nowhubby will admit occasionally that he understands now why I did what I did. Now we are dealing with a school that up to a couple of months ago did not want to help our son, and a daycare that still wants to kick our son out. And I tell myself, they’re messing with the wrong mom, because I have honed my anger into a weapon to be reckoned with. I know when to back off and be kind, and allow people to do their jobs, but I will swoop in and fight with claws and fangs bared at the first indication that my son is somehow being failed by these people. I don’t know if this is mentally healthy or not, but it sure feels good to know I have this anger inside of me that keeps me from giving up. I feel this need to fight not only for my son but for every child who is unceremoniously shoved aside because god forbid they are just too much work for these daycare workers or teachers or aides. I want to start a revolution, however misguided or megalomaniacal (is that even a word?) that seems. I am ready for the fight of my life, and if I ever start to get tired or feel sorry for myself I just think of my son and what I want for him, and I think of the other children like him and know that their parents are exhausted like I am, and that it’s easier to not fight, and I want to fight for all of these exhausted parents. I know. I’m nuts. I seem to feed on my own anger and it is what propels me through the day. But really, I am not a bad person. I don’t snap at people for bumping into me. I don’t yell at a coworker who asks me the question I just answered for them yesterday. I am SO grateful for this anger. It seems as if it came as a gift from my son when he came to me – sort of like, “here I am, I’m going to shake up your life in a major way and you will have to fight for me a lot but I brought you something to help…”. a cosmic, mysteriously amazing gift.How wonderful that it turns out I got the exactly right chld for me, and that I got the exact right emotion to help him navigate through his life.
And just in case I am painting too rosy a picture; life sucks for me a lot of the time. I am under constant stress and pressure and it is almost always because of this child. But life sucks for me because I still live in the mindset that I need to feel sorry for myself before I actually kick my own butt into action. I may always be this way – get bad news, mope around and hate my life, then get pissed off and get to work – but at least I know now that my anger can be counted on to come and rescue me from my self-pity at some point, and show me the way to advocate for my son this time.

The battles won’t end. They will change. One battle will be won and another will be right behind it. I know this. As long as I have my anger I will keep fighting. Hopefully in the processs I will be making my son’s world just a little easier for him to navigate. And hopefully I can educate people along the way too. I will try to do it in the nicest way possible, but if someone refuses to listen, they’d better watch out. I have my anger, and I’m not scared to use it.