Feminine Rage
Spoiler Alert: There’s no recipe after this but the next post will have one. I promise.
My eighteenth birthday in October was an interesting day. I think it was no coincidence that I learned a tough and valuable lesson that day. After all, what better way to step into adulthood than for someone to piss you off (satire). For a long time, I did not talk about the emotions which filled me at all. Not because I couldn’t, but because I simply did not want to. For the first time, in a long time, someone disrupted my peace and I was not ok. I had worked hard to rebrand and do a 180 on my thought processes when it came to how I handled conflict. Unlike the other times, deep breaths and guided meditation were not going to fix this. I knew, my friends knew, and I was angry. Like slash three tires angry. We all were. That’s the beauty of having good friends. I was not so angry about the events that transpired. I was angry at the fact that they made me so damn angry.
Up until that point, I thought that I had experienced most of the hard lessons I needed to get through in order to become a better person. Yea, it was tumultuous at times, but I knew that I needed to go through it, and instead of backing down, I took it in stride. This time was different though. I was not able to get up so quickly and recover from the revelations I had received. I did not understand how all of this could get dumped on me and out of all days my birthday. Recently after having a conversation with friends, I realized in that moment, because of that event, I had unveiled an emotion buried deep inside of me, rage.
There is no rage like that of the feminine. There are songs written about it (Bust your windows, Truth Hurts, Man Down, Kill Bill, the ENTIRE Lemonade album), films made, and even art installations. Yet one will never be able to experience this type of rage until they have experienced life as a woman. This rage isn’t white boys punching holes in the walls, or getting upset because you couldn’t get concert tickets. It is so much more. It is the feeling of wanting to not maim, but to destroy. I once heard a man say, “never underestimate a quiet woman” and it is true. Feminine rage is beautifully disastrous. Destroying any and everything in its path to protect its vessel as rage is a direct threat to peace, all while doing so with eloquence and beauty. Unlike masculine rage, Feminine rage is calculated and anything but mindless. In the age of protecting one’s peace, rage is frowned upon. I’m here to tell you though, sometimes rage is okay. In some cases, it’s needed. Just like women have a million things to celebrate, we have about a million things to be really fucking angry about.
One of my most valuable lessons has been recognizing and accepting when I am angry and filled with rage. Although rarely revealing itself, I treat this emotion as I do any other. I let myself experience it, in a healthy way of course. I journal, write poetry, close the door and scream. If I’m feeling really spirited and I know the consequences will be minimal I even give people a real piece of my mind. Most importantly though, I never go back on my word. Everything I speak is filled with my truest emotions and intentions. I remember what I felt like in those moments and vow to myself that I will never do anything to experience rage because of the thing again. Not only does it cause me to be more mindful, it sets boundaries between myself and whatever I am so damn mad about. The key to living a successful life is to have self-awareness. Protect your peace, but do not suppress your rage. Allow yourself to experience and feel those emotions in a healthy way. Sometimes that guided meditation just isn’t going to fulfill you, but screaming to the top of your lungs in the rain will. It’s all about balance baby.
Take Care,
CT🤎
