The decision

Here's where we've got to. The outburst doesn't release anything, and mostly it keeps the anger going. Swallowing the feeling whole isn't the only alternative to it. The outburst gets compliance now and then and almost never gets you heard. It runs on a story that hasn't been checked, it's often fuelled by a day that had nothing to do with the person in front of you, and it lands on whoever is safest. You already hold it back in front of people whose good opinion you can't afford to lose. And you lose nothing in strength by dropping it.

If that's persuaded you, what's left is a decision and a method. The decision is one sentence.

For the first twenty minutes of being angry, I don't say it, send it or decide it.

That's the whole rule. It doesn't tell you not to be angry, and it doesn't tell you to drop the matter. It moves the conversation to a time when you can think, on the grounds that anything true will still be true by then.

A word about the number. Twenty minutes is my working figure. It isn't a measurement from a laboratory. The body's surge takes minutes to settle and not seconds, so a count of ten taken while you're still standing in the argument is rarely enough. How many minutes it takes varies with the person and the provocation. Start with twenty and adjust it from experience. If you're still rehearsing speeches at twenty, you need longer. For something big, think in terms of sleeping on it.

The method has five parts.

Know your early signs. The outburst feels instant, but the body gives notice. Common signs are heat in the face or chest, a tight jaw, clenched hands, and a voice that goes either loud or very quiet and precise. Some people find they've started talking faster or interrupting. There are signs in your thinking too. The words "always" and "never" turn up, or you catch yourself drafting a devastating sentence. Find your own two or three. The earlier you catch it, the easier everything after it becomes, because leaving at four out of ten is simple and leaving at nine is very hard.

Leave properly. Storming out is part of the outburst, and to the other person it feels like punishment. A proper exit has three pieces. You say what's happening, that you're coming back, and when. "I'm getting too angry to talk about this well. I'm going to take twenty minutes and then I'd like to come back to it." Choose your own wording now, while you're calm, and tell the people you live with what it means. It needs agreeing in advance because someone who's halfway through an argument, watching you head for the door, will otherwise assume you're dodging. The promise to come back is what makes it different from walking out. Keep that promise every time, and they'll learn to trust the exit.

Bring the heat down, and don't feed it. This is where the research from chapter 3 comes in. The things that help are the ones that slow the body. Breathe slowly, making the out-breath longer than the in-breath, for a few minutes. Walk at an ordinary pace. Splash cold water on your face, make tea, fold the washing, water the plants. The things that don't help are the ones that keep the body revved or the mind fixed on the target. That rules out hitting things, and it rules out pacing the garden while you compose your closing speech. It also rules out texting a friend your side of the story, or driving, which is a poor idea anyway with your attention elsewhere. A hard run belongs on this list as well, to many people's surprise. In Kjærvik and Bushman's review, vigorous exercise did nothing reliable for anger, whatever else it does for you.

You can't stop the replay by ordering yourself to stop, so give your mind a job. One that's been tested is to go over the incident as if you were a third person watching from across the room. Dominik Mischkowski, Ethan Kross and Bushman tried this with people who had just been provoked. Those who stepped back and saw the scene from outside had fewer aggressive thoughts, felt less angry and behaved less aggressively than those who relived it through their own eyes. From across the room you can see two tired people in a kitchen, which from the inside is very hard to see.

Find the point. When you're cooler, ask three questions. What actually happened, in camera terms? What's my story about it, and what else could explain it? What do I want to be different? Sometimes the answer to the third is "nothing, I was tired and it didn't matter," and then you drop it, properly, with no sulk held in reserve. If you find you can't drop it, then it does matter, and you should say so. Sometimes the answer is that the person you're really angry with wasn't in the room.

Say it. Go back when you said you would. Use the form from the last chapter, which is what happened, what it cost you, and what you'd like. Then listen to the reply, which may include something you hadn't known. This step matters as much as the twenty minutes do. If you wait and then never raise anything, you're back to swallowing it. Your points will pile up in the file, and the rule will come to feel like a gag. The delay is there so that your complaint can land.

A few situations need their own notes.

Written messages are the easy case. Write the furious email if you like, but leave the address line empty, and look at it again tomorrow. I'd be surprised if you still wanted to send the first draft once you've slept. The same goes for posts and replies online.

Driving is the hard case, because you can't leave. There the rule shrinks to not engaging at all. That means no gestures, no horn held down, no closing up on the car in front. The other driver will be out of your life in ninety seconds if you let them go.

At work you often can't walk out of a meeting. The exit line has an office version. "I'd like to think about that and come back to you this afternoon" does the same job, and nobody in the room needs to know why you said it. Then do come back to it.

With small children you often can't take twenty minutes. Take two. Check they're safe, go into the next room, breathe slowly, and come back. It's better to tell a four-year-old "I need a minute because I'm feeling cross" than to let them see you lose your temper, and they learn from it what to do with their own feelings.

If your version is the long silence, the first twenty minutes aren't where you go wrong. Your difficulty is at the far end, where the break never finishes. So give it a limit. Say that you're upset and not ready to talk, name a time within the next day, and keep to it. "I'm angry about last night and I can't talk about it yet. Can we sit down after dinner tomorrow?" A break with an end is a pause. A break with no end is the old silence, and the other person will take it as punishment however quiet you are.

You can also prepare a plan in advance for the situation that most often sets you off. The form is "when X happens, I will do Y." For example, "when I feel my jaw tighten during homework, I'll say I'm getting a glass of water and go and get one." A plan that's made while calm and tied to a specific cue has a much better chance of turning up when it's needed than a general intention to do better.

If you've decided, tell someone today. Tell the person who's seen the most of your temper, give them your exit line, and ask them to let you use it.