This is so wise and true. It’s why I gave up Twitter - I realised I was in the habit of getting enraged first thing each morning, and then going hunting for more enraging things. It felt so righteous, but it was also warping the way I saw the world. I now try to keep my rage for important things, instead of scattering it freely everywhere!
Thank you Elissa for writing so bravely and eloquently about something most of us don’t have the courage or self awareness to recognize or own up to. I didn’t fully recognize my own anger until recently.
These days the comment section of even a relatively neutral, benign NYT piece is laced with so much hatred and vitriol and rage that I have to believe there must be some kind of delicious, cathartic release people feel at being able to unleash all of that onto strangers.
I often think about the comments of Rachel Goldberg, whose son Hersh is a hostage in Gaza:
“All of us everywhere on planet Earth need to really ask ourselves:’Do I aspire to be human or am I swept up in the enticing and delicious world of hatred?’”
Wow, the searing honesty here - I'm so glad you wrote this. Huge. I was right there with you in the kitchen, so been there. And you totally put your finger on the addictive/dopamine aspect of righteous anger. Maybe one of the biggest problems we have as a society and as individuals. I hope this post gets a very large audience.
Some of the best writing I have ever read. And an entirely new perspective for me. I will spend my day thinking about this, how an addictive rage has impacted the world and my own life.
This is so goooood. The weaving of personal rage, the quick rising of it when infused by alcohol, and the connection to the bigger, wider collective rage of humanity (or lack thereof, at times). I also raged at my spouse when I drank. I, too, would slip down the proverbial slope into resenting all his misgivings, the laundry list of them all spewing out, insisting repentance is required. My slope usually landed me in a puddle of tears and shame by nights end. I’m so glad I don’t live there anymore.
This is so goooood. The weaving of personal rage, the quick rising of it when infused by alcohol, and the connection to the bigger, wider collective rage of humanity (or lack thereof, at times). I also raged at my spouse when I drank. I, too, would slip down the proverbial slope into resenting all his misgivings, the laundry list of them all spewing out, insisting repentance is required. My slope usually landed me in a puddle of tears and shame by nights end. I’m so glad I don’t live there anymore.
This is exactly why I could never do Twitter, couldn’t be on socials barely at all in 2020 and 2021. My response to anger and rage has always been to be afraid, terrified, but at a certain point you get sick of feeling so afraid and powerless and you fight back, matching rage for rage. In this way, it’s exactly like addiction; when someone in the family is addicted, it sweeps through the entire family like wildfire. Everyone gets sick. Such a visceral, eloquent piece.
I'm glad you wrote this. I'm glad you stopped. I grew up on the other side of this alcohol fueled evening rage and it was horrible. There is a dopamine hit, which is why I believe in never hitting a child or an animal. It can quickly become addictive, we see that all around. I think our highest selves don't engage with hate, rage, or anger, not even the righteous kind. To write as you do is a balm.
This is a powerful essay; would love to see it taught to high school students, to hopefully help them identify with it and intentionally avoid the pitfalls you’ve so eloquently described. Wish I had seen this when my parents went down the drinking to rage route. I couldn’t have stopped them but I could have avoided internalizing it and just accept it for what it was.
I’ve heard people use the term “rageaholic” but hadn’t thought much about it until two years ago when a longtime friend visited. It was utterly exhausting to be around her. I’m glad you found a way out.
“Always looking for the next hit” - this ending gives me chills. Thank you for this excellent essay, Elisa. You’ve given me language to describe something I’ve been pondering for a while.
I had a phase in my twenties where I would rant and rant about the injustices of the world to anyone who would listen. I was always angry, always aggrieved about things. When I drank, it would get worse, but even during my sober work days I found myself engaging in an endless stream of negative, angry musings. One day, mid-rant to a co-worker, I suddenly got a clear view of myself, could hear and see myself as though I had split in two and was witnessing my own performance. It was profound. And while I can't say I've never angrily ranted since then - it's certainly not my default to every single issue. I feel very fortunate to have had that realization - as I have since observed how people are so often edging away from the perpetually-aggrieved individual, the one who is left alone but isn't quite sure why, thus self-fulfilling the prophecy that the world really is a terrible place.
Yes, you preach it here, Elissa. Rage-a-hol (as Homer Simpson called it) was my one-and-only go-to when I presented as a male assigned at birth who had no idea I was trans. Rage was my only outlet, and it became a way of life in death. Hope-filled anger lays foundations to build upon, where dopamine-laced rage rips away everything to the core of the earth and would easily scoop up the molten core. It gives nothing back, and I pray our culture is finally seeing that after nearly 8 years of interminable addiction to it.
I think one of the biggest issues we face as democratic societies is that those who 'lead' us are they themselves trapped in – and are likely most susceptible to – this very cycle of addiction. And then that way of existing is inflicted on the rest of us (probably subconsciously). The question is: how do we break that cycle so that hope and light and joy can break through the ever-growing wall of rage?
This is so wise and true. It’s why I gave up Twitter - I realised I was in the habit of getting enraged first thing each morning, and then going hunting for more enraging things. It felt so righteous, but it was also warping the way I saw the world. I now try to keep my rage for important things, instead of scattering it freely everywhere!
Freaking brilliant, the way you take the personal and apply it to the political here. 👏🏽
Thank you Elissa for writing so bravely and eloquently about something most of us don’t have the courage or self awareness to recognize or own up to. I didn’t fully recognize my own anger until recently.
These days the comment section of even a relatively neutral, benign NYT piece is laced with so much hatred and vitriol and rage that I have to believe there must be some kind of delicious, cathartic release people feel at being able to unleash all of that onto strangers.
I often think about the comments of Rachel Goldberg, whose son Hersh is a hostage in Gaza:
“All of us everywhere on planet Earth need to really ask ourselves:’Do I aspire to be human or am I swept up in the enticing and delicious world of hatred?’”
Wow, the searing honesty here - I'm so glad you wrote this. Huge. I was right there with you in the kitchen, so been there. And you totally put your finger on the addictive/dopamine aspect of righteous anger. Maybe one of the biggest problems we have as a society and as individuals. I hope this post gets a very large audience.
Some of the best writing I have ever read. And an entirely new perspective for me. I will spend my day thinking about this, how an addictive rage has impacted the world and my own life.
This is so goooood. The weaving of personal rage, the quick rising of it when infused by alcohol, and the connection to the bigger, wider collective rage of humanity (or lack thereof, at times). I also raged at my spouse when I drank. I, too, would slip down the proverbial slope into resenting all his misgivings, the laundry list of them all spewing out, insisting repentance is required. My slope usually landed me in a puddle of tears and shame by nights end. I’m so glad I don’t live there anymore.
Thank you, Elissa 🙏🏼
This is so goooood. The weaving of personal rage, the quick rising of it when infused by alcohol, and the connection to the bigger, wider collective rage of humanity (or lack thereof, at times). I also raged at my spouse when I drank. I, too, would slip down the proverbial slope into resenting all his misgivings, the laundry list of them all spewing out, insisting repentance is required. My slope usually landed me in a puddle of tears and shame by nights end. I’m so glad I don’t live there anymore.
Thank you, Elissa 🙏🏼
This is exactly why I could never do Twitter, couldn’t be on socials barely at all in 2020 and 2021. My response to anger and rage has always been to be afraid, terrified, but at a certain point you get sick of feeling so afraid and powerless and you fight back, matching rage for rage. In this way, it’s exactly like addiction; when someone in the family is addicted, it sweeps through the entire family like wildfire. Everyone gets sick. Such a visceral, eloquent piece.
I'm glad you wrote this. I'm glad you stopped. I grew up on the other side of this alcohol fueled evening rage and it was horrible. There is a dopamine hit, which is why I believe in never hitting a child or an animal. It can quickly become addictive, we see that all around. I think our highest selves don't engage with hate, rage, or anger, not even the righteous kind. To write as you do is a balm.
This is a powerful essay; would love to see it taught to high school students, to hopefully help them identify with it and intentionally avoid the pitfalls you’ve so eloquently described. Wish I had seen this when my parents went down the drinking to rage route. I couldn’t have stopped them but I could have avoided internalizing it and just accept it for what it was.
I’ve heard people use the term “rageaholic” but hadn’t thought much about it until two years ago when a longtime friend visited. It was utterly exhausting to be around her. I’m glad you found a way out.
“Always looking for the next hit” - this ending gives me chills. Thank you for this excellent essay, Elisa. You’ve given me language to describe something I’ve been pondering for a while.
Brought Trump to mind.
I had a phase in my twenties where I would rant and rant about the injustices of the world to anyone who would listen. I was always angry, always aggrieved about things. When I drank, it would get worse, but even during my sober work days I found myself engaging in an endless stream of negative, angry musings. One day, mid-rant to a co-worker, I suddenly got a clear view of myself, could hear and see myself as though I had split in two and was witnessing my own performance. It was profound. And while I can't say I've never angrily ranted since then - it's certainly not my default to every single issue. I feel very fortunate to have had that realization - as I have since observed how people are so often edging away from the perpetually-aggrieved individual, the one who is left alone but isn't quite sure why, thus self-fulfilling the prophecy that the world really is a terrible place.
Yes, you preach it here, Elissa. Rage-a-hol (as Homer Simpson called it) was my one-and-only go-to when I presented as a male assigned at birth who had no idea I was trans. Rage was my only outlet, and it became a way of life in death. Hope-filled anger lays foundations to build upon, where dopamine-laced rage rips away everything to the core of the earth and would easily scoop up the molten core. It gives nothing back, and I pray our culture is finally seeing that after nearly 8 years of interminable addiction to it.
I think one of the biggest issues we face as democratic societies is that those who 'lead' us are they themselves trapped in – and are likely most susceptible to – this very cycle of addiction. And then that way of existing is inflicted on the rest of us (probably subconsciously). The question is: how do we break that cycle so that hope and light and joy can break through the ever-growing wall of rage?