Three Things People Believe About Morning Meditation After a Night of Arguing

Meditation will not make you stop being angry.

I know because I once demanded exactly that of it. One Tuesday morning, after a night of my wife and me lying back to back, each holding on to our own edge of the bed, I crept out to the living room at ten to six, laid a cushion in the corner and sat down with one very clear purpose: to sit until the anger was gone.

Thirty minutes later I was exactly as angry as when I started. Plus a little extra, for having spent thirty minutes and got nothing.

I supervise construction sites, I have to be on site by seven, and my foreman's messages start landing at six. Mornings like that have no room for a failed sit. So I sat down again and went looking for what I had gotten wrong. This piece is those three things, each with one small exercise to try.

This is not a piece claiming meditation will mend a marriage, and it is not telling anyone to swallow their anger to keep the peace at home. Anger is often pointing at something worth hearing. Meditation only gives you a place to sit beside it, instead of chasing it or fleeing from it. And if your arguments leave you frightened, insulted or controlled, that is no longer something to meditate your way past. Please tell someone you trust, or a person with professional training.

Do you have to cool down before you can sit?

Ten to six, the tiles still cold, the smell of last night's rice warmed over drifting from the kitchen. I sat cross-legged on the cushion, hands on my knees. Only in the fourth minute did I notice my hands had curled up at some point, thumb trapped under the other four fingers, as if guarding something I did not want to hand over.

What I told myself then: I am not calm enough, so it is not taking. That sounds reasonable. But underneath it sits something else. If I must settle before I am allowed to sit, then the anger is deciding when my practice happens. And if I sit in order to settle, the sit becomes an assignment, and failing the assignment hands me one more reason to be angry. That morning I fought two rounds: one with Vy the night before, one with myself as I sat down.

I have since seen that the anger and the sitting do not need to finish one before the other begins. The anger stays, I sit, and neither side has to sign a peace treaty.

The way to tell you are doing it right is small: by the end of the five minutes you can say "I am angry" without adding "because of him" or "because of her". The first time, many people find the anger sharper rather than softer, and so did I. It sounds backwards, but nothing has gone wrong. After a week, some find the anger still fully there but can sit beside it longer, and some notice no difference. On a day without five minutes, keep just the first step: one silent line, then two long breaths out.

The place I slipped most was using the sit to rehearse the argument. From outside it looks perfect: eyes closed, back straight, face still. Inside, a meeting is under way, with an opening line, three points and a closer. It is tempting because it feels like doing two useful things at once. When you notice you are drafting, there is no need to scold yourself. Just breathe all the way out and return to your hands. A mind that keeps replaying the fight is hardly unusual either, and when the mind will not settle is a common thing. And if you want to hear the other person without preparing a reply, there is listening without composing a reply.

Does sitting still show you who was right?

"So whose fault is it, really?"

"Hers, probably. Who could stand being talked to like that?"

"Though I did say something harsh this afternoon."

"So it is my fault?"

"No. She started it."

On Wednesday morning I sat down with a different belief: this time I will sit until it is clear. Someone had told me that sitting still clears the mind, and I believed it. And it did clear, but like a headlight does: lighting one side very brightly.

I had thought I needed a fair verdict. Underneath, the question "who was wrong" had already picked its kind of ending for me: someone has to lose. Each minute I sat, I remembered one more thing tilting my way. By the tenth minute I had enough of a file for a courtroom with only one lawyer in it. That sit did not help me understand Vy. It made me better at arguing.

The way to tell you are doing it right is that the right column is harder to write than the left. The first time I wrote one line and crossed it out, because it sounded like admitting defeat. It was not defeat. It was only a guess. After a week, some people find the right column getting easier, and some still cross it out. A short version for a busy day: only the right column, exactly one line.

What I get wrong is turning the page into an indictment. The left column grows to eight items, full of "always" and "every time". It is tempting because holding a page in your hand feels like holding evidence, and evidence feels solid. But this page is ruled in two columns so that two things sit side by side, not so one can beat the other. If the left column starts growing an "always", cross that word out and write down just one thing the person actually said.

Once you have sat, must you make up right away?

Twenty-five past six. Vy stood at the stove, spooning rice into a lunchbox for our son Bin, her back to me. My iced milk coffee sat on the table, half the ice already melted. I had just finished five minutes of sitting and felt a little softer, enough to believe this was the moment.

"Vy, let us talk about last night."

"Now? You are about to leave for work."

"Just quickly."

"Leave it until tonight."

I stood there, having just felt reasonable and then been stopped. I thought: sitting and then saying nothing is a waste. It sounds right, but underneath is something else. My softening for a few minutes does not mean Vy has softened at the same hour. Pressing to talk right now turns the sit into an excuse for demanding the other person keep my pace. And the deadline of "it has to be settled before I walk out the door" is one I set myself. Nobody else set it.

The first time I said it, it sounded stiff, like a line from a film. The next day Vy answered with a small "mm". Some people get a nod, some get silence, and neither means the sentence failed. The way to tell you are doing it right is that you walk out the door no longer feeling you owe anyone a reply. On a rushed day, the sentence alone is enough, with no sit beforehand.

The easy place to go wrong is turning that sentence into a weapon. "I have calmed down, now it is your turn" sounds very grown-up, and it is tempting because it puts you on higher ground. But it hands the other person a task they have not agreed to. The sentence worth saying is about you, like "tonight I would like to talk more", not one that grades the other person.

If you tried it and it did not work

The first reason it often fails is being too angry, and wanting to stand up before three minutes are over. There is no need to force it. Get up, wash your face with cool water, walk once around the house, then try again or let today go. Meditation is not a place for gritting your teeth, and skipping one morning is only skipping one morning. If you worry that you sat and nothing seemed to happen, there is nothing happened after sitting, did it fail.

The second reason is that every morning comes after another night of arguing. Then what you need is a conversation between the two of you, and ten extra minutes of sitting cannot stand in for it. You could ask a third person you both trust, or meet someone with professional training in couples and family matters. Doing so does not mean you have failed.

And if for weeks in a row every morning feels heavy, sad or tiring and you cannot say why, that too is worth talking over with someone who has the training to help. Meditation is a small thing, and it cannot take the place of a person who knows how to listen to you.

The cushion is still in the corner of our living room, its edge a little worn.

Tomorrow morning, if one sentence is still unsaid tonight, try sitting beside it instead of driving it away. It does not need to vanish for your morning to begin.