Fear seems to be à la mode these days. I have joined the trend certainly. The past years, I have been afraid of men, heatwaves, expectations, pesticides and Jeff Bezos turning into an AI-powered robot, to name a few. One of the overarching themes to what I’m afraid of seems to be the aggression that they express: I am afraid of anger.

This puts me in a difficult position, you see, as I am carrying a lot of anger inside myself. I have felt angry for years and years and I have only been aware of it for about six of them. The part before that was more like an endured panic attack that, as I progressed, started to show little cracks that turned into breaks until I started to understand the difference between a panic attack and just feeling very stressed.

Anger finally found me through love, the longing to feel it, to be there for someone, for myself. To want something and to get it for myself. In other words, the longing to be able to be aggressive. When I choose to, the way I choose to. Not violent, simply allowing myself to take up space and possibly upset someone else with my needs and wishes.

Looking for ways to help me heal, I felt rejected by society and social discourse: as if it was good to suffer from PTSD but bad to suffer from narcissism, as if it was good or even admirable to follow a vegan diet, but bad to explicitly choose to eat meat. As if masculine aggression would be more toxic than feminine passive aggression. They all expressed to me that I was good if I was a victim, but bad if I was a perpetrator. Even if I chose to be the victim myself. Even if I needed to be a perpetrator out of self-preservation. As if sacrificing myself would bring me closer to Jesus on the cross and spiritual purity.

I certainly felt like that, fasting. Hardly eating meat, an empty stomach, lightness, helped me feel peace, as if I could keep violence at bay. It reflected my timidity, my fear to take up space and also to take the responsibility that would come with it. People would not be able to hold me accountable, as I would simply not be there, or gone again. To this day, I am still making sure I can always leave, there is always a way out, out of feeling punished, out of feeling obliterated, out of feeling vicitmized. Today, the only person victimizing me is me.

It does not make me a reliable friend. It does not make me generous, as I cannot give, what I let not be there. It makes me a parasite in a way, needing other people’s space to continue living. Even if I try to make sure to openly ask for it. Even if I try to leave their space just before they will finally abandon me.

I carry a lot of anger inside, an anger I try to avoid as it makes me reject myself in a way beyond I can yet deal with. I express my anger indirectly, sometimes it pops up at unexpected moments so that I feel attacked by it. Afraid, at such moments, to inadvertently hurt others, or to be rejected by them, I hide. I hide myself from others and I hide myself from myself. I am not here.

It makes me sad. I have dreams of a husband, of children, of singing, of building a home, growing my own flowers, of bringing my ideas to the world, of being a source of love and faith and a naughty edge, of being the warm and confident woman that others can rely on. And yet, I am still not quite here.

I’m not quite sure what I feel angry about. Most of the anger I feel is about situations that have long gone, where I was powerless somehow even if I do not know exactly how. I feel anger too, for not having what others have. The things I dream of and have the potential to build for myself, yet I do not know how to tap into that potential. Something blocking me, nauseating me, blacking me out until my whole nervous system starts ringing as if I have just been beaten up. It is easier to simply deny that the potential is even there, leaving me angry.

I have learned more about my anger. What she looks like, what she is telling me. I start to become okay with feeling anger, with being bad or having needs if that is what it means. And I just hope that my story will help you feel okay with your anger too. That carrying anger does not make you an evil person, or stained, but maybe only, just as imperfect and human as the rest of us.

Sending you much love, the best antidote to anger I have found so far.

Sophie