Anger should not be allowed in bed at night. Instead of disappearing into a blissful dream state, the grinding of my teeth is the only unconsciousness happening. Snippy sentences replay over and over, pithier responses conjured. Dogs I didn’t know existed bark relentlessly at distant thunder rumbles. When I finally manage to slip away, it’s into terrible dreams of violence.
I know this, but still paused only for a moment the other night before dramatically pushing the bedroom door shut. Rather than take a few minutes to end the ill-timed tiff with my daughter, I climbed beneath the sheets in a huff. Our squabble was stupid, triggered by school work left to the last minute and made worse by computer failure. But my anger was too hot to touch and besides, I felt right. What a waste of good slumber.
In the morning, I woke from my non-sleep with shame and brought my beloved daughter an offering of tea and an apology. A few minutes later, she appeared downstairs with her own words of regret and a hug. Peace again. The only way to go.
I know that is the best advice for most people. However, my anger is such a nasty little beast I find that the best thing is to tuck it in, pat it on its growly head, and say: “You are absolutely right. He/she is totally wrong. Now go to sleep and tomorrow you’ll feel much better.” I always wake up feeling so much better that I can actually admit I was wrong the night before.