I Used To Stash Cracked Dishes Under My Bed

I’m not a hoarder, I swear. But it used to be that when a plate or mug, or whatever, got cracked or badly chipped, I would stash it under my bed. After a while, I had a nice collection going. The purpose of this sharp-edged ceramic harvest was to use in case of a specific kind of emotional emergency.

I used to have a bit of a temper problem. I’m very happy to say that that’s changed and nowadays, I’m actually pretty patient. I mean, of course I still get mad. But in my younger years, I would periodically become enraged. It used to be that the right trigger could get me seething and shaking with wrath.

And when that happened, it was nice to have a cup or a jar that I could grab from under the bed and smash into a million tiny pieces! Now, you might think that, without the context of an impulsive, reckless rampage, destroying a fragile object wouldn’t be all that therapeutic. I even made it relatively safe by shattering my dishes inside of an old bed sheet so the shards wouldn’t fly everywhere. But, even though the destructive act was very controlled (and, in a sense, pre-planned), I found it deeply satisfying. The sound, the feeling, the physical act and sensory witness to the actual destruction of a piece of pottery or glassware reassured me that I had effected something real.

This is an example of the power of ritual. And I mean spiritual ritual. I’m not talking about the little ritual of making yourself coffee in the morning. Most of the “rituals” people engage in nowadays are more like habits. And life-supporting habits are important, of course. But I want to talk about the kind of ritual that taps into a primal need; the kind of ritual that grounds us in a mysterious reality bigger than ourselves.

There’s a kind of shock that comes from actually doing something violent in real life. You don’t experience that shock when you imagine violent acts in your mind. Rage fantasies tend to loop in one’s head, never resolving. But when you physically attack a real-life object, the experience of anger is (or at least can be) transformed. If one has chosen a target unwisely, an act of aggression can shift one’s anger instantly into an experience of regret and shame. (I know from experience. Don’t ask.) But as I ritually smashed dishes, I discovered that a controlled and mindful aggressive act can transform anger into a very positive experience — in this case, an experience of grief.

In these ritual acts of violence, I witnessed my own power. Not a fantasy of power, but the reality of my actual power to destroy something. And I witnessed the real destruction of an object which could never be restored to its former condition. And that brought a kind of grief and a sense of seriousness and responsibility. It was not a “fun and happy” experience, but I call it “positive” because it represented a kind of emotional resolution.

There’s a good reason anger remains unresolved as long as it continues looping in the mind without being given expression in a physical act. Anger is a response to the perception that someone’s vulnerability is being exploited. And if that is really what’s happening, action should be taken to protect the vulnerable (whether it’s oneself or someone else).

But, oftentimes, that perception of exploitation is incorrect or at least skewed. A lot of the anger I had in my youth came from an exaggerated feeling of personal vulnerability. I hadn’t come to appreciate my own strength, so I was unduly piqued when I felt someone was threatening me. A ritual act of destruction reassured me that I was not impotent. And over time — not just by smashing dishes, but also by journaling and thinking honestly and critically about my experiences, while living my life and achieving some worthwhile accomplishments — I came to recognize myself more clearly. By now, instead of fearing

I’ll be victimized and raging against perceived aggressors, I know that I have a lot of power and very little to be afraid of.

I’m not an anger management specialist, and I don’t even have the expertise of an amateur familiar with the literature on the subject. So, I don’t know what the best advice is for those who have anger issues. But if you want some random suggestions from one person who used to be much angrier and now has found greater peace, here you go:

Think of something aggressive you can do physically when you get mad. Choose something that does not exploit anyone else’s vulnerability. You can ritually destroy something (like I did) or you can punch a pillow or scream into it at the top of your lungs or go for a run (I’ve done those things, too — they helped, though smashing dishes really was “the best”!).

And then think about the situation that you’re angry about. Who is vulnerable and how? Are you seeing the situation accurately? What is the perspective of the person you feel is in the wrong? What power do you have in the situation? How can you use that power in a healthy, constructive way?

In the end, actions are what matter. In the Digital Age, way too much of our experience of life happens almost entirely in the mind, staring at a screen or ruminating on what a screen showed us earlier. This is a recipe for unending rage. But you can break out of obsessive thought cycles by taking action. And what begins with a ritual of destruction, re-grounding your experience in reality, can be a step on the way to actually changing this crazy-making world.