Anger is a dirty word. Somewhere between political correctness and passive aggression, it was decreed that outright rage must be channelled. Reframed. Somehow remade into something less confronting and more palatable.
Woman particularly, schooled not to make a fuss, are still shamed for the expression of our anger. Witness the disparity between how the sexes are treated when letting rip, displayed on the tennis court, in boardrooms and lunch rooms, in the corridors of power and the halls of our homes.
Anger is our bodyguard, standing hard and loud in front of our frustration or sadness, grief or loss, disappointment or shame. Anger surges when we are mistreated or disrespected. It stands shoulder to shoulder with injustice. It demands to be seen and heard and allowed.
Anger fuels change and revolution: personally, socially, politically. Human civilisation does not move forward without our impetus to fight for what we believe in, whether in the courtroom or lounge room, playing field or battlefield.
Anger is an unlikely ally. Do not suppress or reframe it into something smaller. Listen closely to it, to what it is screaming about your life and those in it. Learn how to express it without shame or fear or apology. Move it through you, because if it finds a home in you it is a bitter poison.
Channel its potent power into creating effective change, the kind that reinforces your boundaries and asserts your sovereignty. The world needs us, each and all, to become the prophets of our rage. This is a fight for our lives. Those who would tell us otherwise are invested only in our silence.
Art via Pinterest, uncredited
Words c. Kerrie Basha, 2018