It Took Me Decades to Feel Angry

Anger was not an emotion that was permitted in the household in which I grew up. This emotion was present, hovering in the air like a dark cloud; it’s just that no one was allowed to acknowledge it. My father dealt with his anger by downing Johnnie Walker Red, starting on the bar car of the Long Island Railroad each evening and then presiding over our family’s dinner table with a glass of the amber liquid by his plate.

The rest of us—my mother, younger brother, and I—sat silently, our chewing and swallowing noises audible in the silence. I brought a book to dinner and read under the table until my brother vehemently protested. Then I started reading every line of type on the orange juice container night after night.

I grew up terrified of anger. I didn’t want to feel angry toward anyone, and I went to great lengths to avoid anyone feeling angry toward me. Boundaries were non-existent. My fear of anger was closely tied to my fear of abandonment and rejection, hallmarks of borderline personality disorder. One of the DSM-5 criteria for borderline personality disorder (BPD) is “Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights).”

A 2017 study published in Frontiers in Psychology found that “BPD patients are reported to experience such an unbearable amount of anger given their proneness to perceive personal…