In the past few months there have been a flurry of well written articles on female assertiveness, apologies, and anger, which have come to the forefront in part because of Jennifer Lawrence’s ,Why Do I Make Less than My Male Costars?

We are Women and We’re Sorry by Janet Frishberg

Why Women Apologize and Should Stop by Sloane Crosley

Famous quotes, the way a woman would have to say them in a meeting. by Alexandra Petry

People reward angry men, but punish angry women, study suggests by Rebecca Adams

Please read them. They are worth the time.

Maybe the journalism inspired me, maybe reading Harriet Lerner’s Dance with Anger percolated, but the last three days I have owned and expressed anger with both my friend Lee and my husband Sandy. I want to thank Lee, because he gave me the space to try out anger, to grab it, run with it, and get a lift in a way that was safe and possibly inspired me to be assertive with Sandy the subsequent day.

Lee and I have a standing 60-90 minute walk/talk/run date on Fridays. It began with him helping me walk the dogs; he at 6’6″ 210lb, walked the Great Dane, and I, at 5’3″ 120lb walked the Basset Hound. Yes, it was comical in its appropriateness. As both dogs meandered, so did our conversations. Since Taylor the Great Dane died, our walk varies more – sometimes a short walk with Milli, sometimes a run together, sometimes conversation over coffee. These walks follow my weekly therapy session, and he has helped me process much. Of course, we don’t always talk about me – as fascinating as that subject might be. Sometimes we discuss work, sometimes it’s his depression, sometimes it’s books we rea, or little topics, like the meaning of life. Sometimes, we just walk. Lee’s silence is easy to be with.

This past Friday, I screwed up the schedule. I moved things around several times, he got frustrated, let me know he was irritated, and we didn’t get together. I apologized. I went for a walk/run on my own, but mid-walk I felt terrible. I reached out to try to make it better, offering alternatives as reparation. But he said, no he was in a bad mood now and needed space. I continued to feel bad. After pounding out a few more kilometers, I re-examined the original interaction and realized he hadn’t confirmed a time, and frankly, I’m a mom, and my life is chaotic. So, why did I feel like I was completely at fault, and he was the one screwed over? I was looking forward to our get together too, but his inability to accommodate and to get so easily frustrated meant that I didn’t get to spend time with my friend. I started to feel some righteous anger. And so I let him know it. In a series of texts. Yes, I know, not exactly confrontational, but a huge step for me. And he let me. Or he had turned off his phone. And eventually my ranting texts simmered down, and I thanked him for letting me rail. And then I deleted the thread, which he may have as well. When I saw him the next time, we were fine. It had been acceptable to him that I had rage-texted.

Stopping to question my too ready feelings of guilt coupled with an overpowering need to fix things, allowed me to reconsider the situation and discover my own right to feel anger.

Which must be why I had something of an altercation with Sandy yesterday at lunch out with the boys.

It started out something like this:

Sandy: [waves to get our check]

Me: Yesterday (Friday) was chaos. I finished this post this morning about it, and it helped me feel less guilty about having the girls pick up the boys after school.

Sandy: (making faces at the boys and ensuring that Auden keeps eating) uh huh.

Me: Yeah, I know you say I shouldn’t, but I’ve been feeling “in debt” because you drop off the boys, but I am no longer picking them up.

Sandy: [some dismissive shake of head to indicate I shouldn’t feel guilty; hands waiter his credit card]

Me: But I do, and then I realized that Fridays are about me getting stuff done for the family, and in order to have those Fridays, I work these long days Monday through Thursday. And at the end of 6:30-5:00 workday, I am so exhausted that picking up the boys and getting everything done is just too much.

Sandy: [Getting impatient, maybe with the kids, maybe with my guilt, maybe because he is envious of my Fridays, maybe because the waiter is chatting with another server.] Yep.

Me: So at the end of the day, I just need that extra help.

Sandy: [clearly dismissive, trying to catch the eye contact of the waiter] …

Me: [sighing and starting to feel rejected, then I stopped and felt a little pissed; I guess I make an angry face.]

Sandy: [grabs returned card and check from waiter] What?!

Me: This is why I don’t share with you. You don’t want to hear it. If you want me to share emotionally with you, then this is what it is. I process things verbally.

Sandy: [Furiously signing the check] When I do I get slapped in the face like just now.

Robin: What? Because I ask you to listen to me?

Sandy: [Steaming and standing up] No, because I am listening, and you get angry at me for my response.

Robin: [Helping kids up] I’m angry at you  because of the way you dismiss my share.

Sandy: You’re angry all of the time now. Every time we talk, you’re mad at me.

[I drag the kids out of the restaurant, Sandy following me. The next portion on the sidewalk.]

Robin: God, why do you have to hyperbolize so much? ‘All the time?’ Every interaction? What exactly about any of our interaction yesterday was angry?

Sandy: I don’t remember. But you’ve always got this look.

Robin: What about the day before that? Or even this morning? what about this morning was me being angry at you?

Sandy: This morning on the couch.

At which point we put it away to go shopping for luggage, because that’s what you do when you have a car in a limited metered spot and both boys are looking at you like they don’t recognize you.

Later after we got home and the boys started playing outside, I asked him, “Seriously, Sandy, I don’t remember being angry at you this morning. What happened on the couch?”

He shared that maybe he perceived me as angry because of the way that I looked at him now. He described this furrow I get in my brow, this inscrutable expression. It’s the same look as when I’m angry with him. I have it all the time now.

I told him, I don’t think he should infer anger unless I say I’m actually angry. I mentioned the recent set of articles, about how women cannot be assertive without being perceived as angry. I specifically referenced the humorous Washington Post piece. We got interrupted at that point, but I’m hoping that he sits with it for a while.

I think I’ve been so meek and quickly acquiescent because whenever I criticize him he gets all, “all you ever do is criticize me,” and then I feel guilty because I have been critical. Then I suppress whatever made me angry in the first place. I wonder if it’s time we had some good quality fights.

——————
Sunday addendum
——————

This morning, Sandy wanted to go upstairs to use the bathroom while Auden and I were on the steps. He gave me a standard annoyed look, and my immediate response was, “What’s wrong?” He straightened his expression and said, “I need to use the bathroom, but I can use either one.” I hustled Auden down the stairs, and the agitation was diffused, but it occurred to me that I deal with his ready frustration all of the time.

So after he came out of the bathroom, I confronted him. I referred to that incident and how it’s unfair that he gets to be angry regularly, but I get angry once every couple of days and now I’m angry all of the time. He responded, “I wasn’t angry.” My response, was, but you had that irritated look and impatient exhale that you give anytime I do something that irritates him. I asked him to just stop and think on it, and then I went to cut Auden’s hair.

And, of course, preceded to cut Auden’s ear in addition to his hair. Sigh.