My dad was a screamer. Not just any screamer: he struggled with serious anger issues. He frightened children—he was the type who would threaten to “give you something to cry about.” We all knew he meant it, as physical punishment was common. My father would lash out in anger, and tears would only fuel his rage. A tough day at work could spiral into chaos, leaving us all walking on eggshells, unsure of when he might explode.
I often imagined my parents separating, especially when my brother and I chose our mom over him during outings. Even after turning eighteen, I vividly recall a summer day when my mom had to intervene to stop him from hitting me while I stood frozen in fear, tears streaming down my face, backed up against the kitchen wall. I had played a foolish prank by changing our voicemail, and he lost it.
Living with that kind of anger for years has left its mark.
Two Decades Later…
Now, I’m married with three kids, and my husband is one of the kindest, most easy-going people I know. But last night was tough. After going to bed early, I lit some incense—a thing he has kindly asked me to avoid, but I completely forgot. When he came to bed, exhausted and in pain from post-shingles complications, he expressed his frustration. Instead of hearing his reasonable request, I simply registered a male voice raised in anger, which triggered my instinctual alarm bells. I curled up into a protective ball, trembling, unable to sleep.
He’s not awake yet, and logically, I know everything’s fine, but my body reacts as though I’m in danger. Will he bring up the incense? Will he lose his temper? Will my fear aggravate him further?
My History with Anger Distorts His Anger
When my husband gets frustrated, it often escalates when he sees my fear. I understand why—it’s frustrating for him to deal with a spouse who curls up in a ball when he raises his voice, even if it’s not directed at me. I freeze, unable to process. “I was yelling at the dog, not you,” he reassures me, and I have to choke out, “I know.”
Sometimes he gets it, but it’s still incredibly taxing. Despite being in therapy and making progress, detaching from my past is a challenge. I often tell him, “It scares me when you raise your voice.” I even have to remind our kids that we don’t yell in this house, as their raised voices trigger my anxiety.
Can you imagine never raising your voice? And when you do, feeling an overwhelming guilt because you see your loved one spiral into fear? That’s the reality my husband faces.
It Can Complicate Healthy Discussions
To me, arguing feels akin to yelling, which feels like a direct threat to my safety. Every disagreement leaves me in tears, and I end up conceding just to bring it to an end. Then I resent myself for not standing my ground, which only amplifies my fear and leads to an emotional mess. My father’s anger issues have created a toxic cycle that makes rational discourse nearly impossible.
When disagreements arise, I feel as if I’m in danger of hearing “I’ll give you something to cry about.” My tears only heighten my anxiety. I resist apologizing because it’s one of the few forms of control I have left. My husband often snaps that I never admit when I’m wrong, but I struggle to breathe under the weight of it all.
This isn’t a healthy way to navigate a marriage.
My Husband Gets It
Fortunately, my husband understands my background with an angry father. He knows my reactions aren’t a reflection of him; he’s learned to work around my triggers. I remind him, “I’m not afraid of you. This isn’t about you.” He nods in understanding, urging me to breathe.
Even today, he didn’t recall the incense issue that kept me awake. When he entered the room, he simply asked what was wrong, and I replied that there was nothing. Truthfully, I was just haunted by the echoes of my past, like a child who never fully grew up.
If you’re interested in related topics, check out this other post on home insemination, or explore resources on female infertility for more information.