«I know you’re mad. Tell me why.»
These words, or at least the same message, was given to me over the phone on Sunday morning.
All of my Saturday night had been spent trying to figure out what, exactly, this sudden rage was all about.
What was I mad about?
So mad that my voice gave me away over the phone?
There wasn’t one single thing I could point out, not one single incident that could have triggered anything I was aware of. I just knew I was pissed off – and that on the right side of the cycle, too. I couldn’t even blame it on PMS this time.
So I decided to dive into it and see what came up.
I found I was furious with all the men in my life who had ever ignored me or placed me too low on their list.
I found that I’ve had ONE relationship where that didn’t happen.
That my current situation is loaded with triggers, pointing back to other situations that once created a thought pattern and a emotional reaction in me – even acting as a self-fulfilling prophecy in the present.
And I found that becoming a mom had taken away my ability to handle my anger well. You know, all the imploding you start doing when there are children present, it really becomes a habit. You’re supposed to be this cool, calm and collected Mother, so you put on a smile and practice making your shoulders look low even when they aren’t.
Even when you’re so mad at the child’s dad that you want to smack him into next decade, where you hopefully can have a non-imploding conversation because the kid has moved out by then.
And then you go online to find your spiritual friends, and the imploding kinda just goes on there, too, because you wouldn’t dare send out some low vibrations anywhere, and they all just expect you to be enlightened and sweet and in charge of your own energy and all that jazz.
That’s fine and wonderful, both the mom thing and the spiritual friends thing, but look:
Anger needs to be properly dealt with.
And to be honest, I have no fucking idea how anymore.
Yeah, I’m still mad, there are years of accumulated anger inside, even after having figured out why and then, finally, conveying it to the inquiring one in a close-to-civilized manner.
It’s still there. Probably because I chose to take the civilized route.
I used to be able to steam it off with my friends, but those friends are no longer available and/or have gone down the so called spiritual route where All Negativity is Banned and Cannot Be Mentioned.
It used to be OK to drive too fast, too far, listening to too loud music. I still do that. It’s not enough.
And it used to help to go out, dance it off, get hammered and have angry sex. Even get into a fight every now and then.
But something happens after you turn 35. It’s not that you don’t get angry anymore, but you’re not allowed to show it. You have to be a Responsible and Mature Mother, if you have kids, and RMM’s don’t hit the brick wall with clenched fists. They just don’t. They breathe and smile and speak softly and cover it all up, thinking that this is to be dealt with later.
Later, of course, never comes.
And then it accumulates.
I’m thinking that I really should journal more.
Write childish poetry again, just to let my inner 16 year old have a go at her ex (who apparently still pisses off her 37 year old self).
Paint, maybe, I’d love that too.
How do you deal with your hidden anger?
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