At 5.30am this morning I was rudely awoken by a dream. It featured a man that I have been in relationship with for many years. He has done things that make me furious at him, and the dream left rage in its wake.
I watched the Barbie film at the weekend. I laughed really hard at the feminist jokes - the kind of laughter that had rage mixed in. I cried, too. The tears were an acknowledgement of the ways in which I have been undermined and underestimated and misunderstood and silenced by the patriarchy. The tears were grief, with rage mixed in.
I am not good at dealing with my anger. For most of my life it has remained hidden just out of sight - leaking out as passive aggression or manipulation, or turning inwards as depression or hopelessness. Of course, good girls don’t get angry. Good girls don’t speak to power or rock the boat. Good girls smile and say, ‘don’t worry about it.’ ‘I know you didn’t really mean it.’ ‘Sorry.’
Good girls don’t write pieces like this. Maybe I’ll offend male readers with my rage and there’ll be a mass unsubscribing. Maybe the women will say that I’m making a big deal about nothing and that things are so much better now (and don’t rock the boat). Maybe they’ll take the man’s side. This happened to me recently.
I want to try and meet my rage. I want to make a space and welcome it in. Other parts of me1 are afraid of it, afraid of what it might say or do, and I get that. It’s really hard to be around rage. I learnt to protect The Other by eating mine. Either I swallowed it down, or I found myself alone.
I am letting God build a huge field for me, one with wildflowers, which is encircled by fences of fierce love. I am going to take my rage there. I am inviting yours along if it wants to come. We can share our experiences there, and validate each other. We can recover. We can say the things we couldn’t say at the time. We can scream at the sky. We can grieve the injustices visited upon us. The tears are coming as I type.
In this field, in solidarity with the rage of others, and over time, I have a feeling that something new will emerge. It will be brave, fierce, and driven by love. We shouldn’t have to do this alone.
When I say ‘we’ I am speaking right now of women, for that is the body I have lived in and been oppressed in, and I cannot speak for other groups. There are many other groups, because oppressing each other is one of the things that human beings do. There is so much suffering. There is so much hiding of suffering and managing of suffering. There is so much trying to get what we need from underneath the systems that are taking all of our air.
And, most of us (certainly me) are sometimes on top of others, taking their air. When we see it, and when we don’t see it. It is important not to leave that out. This is a part of my grief. This leads me to contrition and to reparation. To the ongoing internal and external work of anti-racism. To uncovering my fatphobia, my transphobia, my assumptions and stereotypes, my prioritising and valuing of this person over that one. This acknowledgement of my culpability is a part of what drives me.
We will be brave, fierce, and driven by love.
I will work to make space for my rage, over the coming days. I won’t leap to action. I’ll hear it, and validate it, and let it scream. Of course it’s fucking angry. Of course.
It is already softening around the edges. The urge towards violence is shifting. I see my hand, held in front of me, palm out. I hear a clear NO. My face is soft - I can see now that The Other is suffering too. I can see the suffering of that man who harms others. I do not forgive him. Not yet. I will take my own time.
I will take my own space. I will trust myself. I am HERE.
Go gently,
Satya <3
PS I also spoke about rage in my piece for Gentle Buddhism this week, about how we can take compassionate action in the face of the enormity of the climate crisis. There’s also a photo of me crying. Here it is.
Invitation: I would like to welcome your rage.
Before you invite it forwards, first make sure that other parts of you feel comfortable about you doing so. If they don’t feel comfortable, then ask the rage to wait until all of you feels safe. If in doubt, wait. This is important, because our rage can end up hurting vulnerable parts of us.
If it doesn’t feel safe yet, keep your rage where it is and, if it feels okay to you, send it a message that I see it and I respect it and I acknowledge its suffering.
Your rage might want to come into the love-boundaried field of wildflowers. It might feel safe somewhere else. When you are ready, when you are curious about it, or feel compassion towards it, listen.
What does it want you to know? What is it protecting you from? What does it need?
How can you use it to heal what needs healing?
How can you help it to source its power from love?
Parts of me = Internal Family Systems.
Thank you thank you for this piece!
I have a friend that gives her anger a name and face...in turn she's able to have sympathy and compassion for this "anger." And is willing to do the hard work to dissect and I understand what is really going on - to see the anger for what it is. To walk up to the anger and shake her hand. I think it's a beautiful practice.
This feels so timely, as I've been dealing with my own rage and trying to find healthy ways to be with it. Thank you!