I think this is a very astute point, actually. I clearly remember the moment the rage was gone. It was like this massive, monumental empty space--at first I didn't even understand what had happened. I felt light, almost dizzy. For so long, rage had felt like a physical burden, heavy and hot and exhausting. The experience of having it vanish was like having an evil Siamese twin cut away, no longer whispering poison in my ear, because I turned a lot of anger inward. And forgiveness WAS a result. An unexpected result, but it was there. Not forgetting. Not letting him off the hook when he misbehaved. But understanding, as best I could. Understanding that he grew up in a monstrous household. I remember walking through Manhattan to work that day, it felt like my feet weren't touching the ground. Like I could fly.
Now, that's not to say I don't get angry at him. He's a world class piece o' work, and I get mad when he mistreats me, lies, gets up to his tricks. The difference for me is the anger isn't pervasive. It doesn't swamp my head, my heart or my life, and for that gift I'm both grateful and proud, because it took work. I'm watching, now, my brothers go through the anger. It was different for them, because in my family, males are valued, females are not--this is not an undercurrent, NF's rampantly, vocally misogynistic--and the awakening didn't really come for them until they had wives and daughters whom, I might add, my NF demeans and despises. So my brothers are now trapped in what I used to call my cage of rage, and they are finding out how hard it is to break loose. We talk about it: how they used to think, "get over yourself," and I used to hate how easy it all seemed for them. It has brought us closer.
