I can see it now. Every time I’ve let this man make me angry; every time I’ve boiled with fury for hours and days after his attacks; every time I punched myself in the head till I was bleeding and seeing double; or worse, the times when nothing could stop the tears coming, hating myself with a white-hot fury for my weakness—when I was only letting him win. The worst our enemies can ever do is to turn us into them. His anger isn’t producing anger in another. He doesn’t know what to do.
