Dear Anger

Dear Anger,

You are the emotion I treat with disdain, like you are unnatural, unwelcome, and a threat to my entire internal family.

I never let you speak.

I cover your mouth and call you sadness, exhaustion, grief, burnout, embarrassment, insecurity, dysregulation, and desire.

I force you to tell polite little and big lies.

I fear I am tainted by you.

And I never let you speak.

Tonight, I see you do not make me dangerous, but my silence makes you desperate. I see that you are the shadow I have refused to integrate. You scare me.

I fear losing control of my tongue and saying hurtful things.

I fear losing control of myself.

I do not punish my child because I am afraid. Because I believe most people do not intend to hurt children. Because I do not want to become the abusers I have experienced and witnessed. And because you, anger, have been blamed for too much that was never yours to carry.

Every day I am fighting against being labeled an angry Black woman. I am fighting against you. And it is probably killing me.

My blood pressure has been out of control since my twenties. I distinctly remember suppressing you during that season.

Forgive me. “Anger is bad” was a child’s understanding. I did not know you are an emotion, a signal, energy, boundary information, and a response to violation, injustice, threat, or loss.

I did not know you are not aggression. You are not violence. And you are not the reason people hurt me or those I love.

I see you. You are safe here. I will be the adult, responsible container you need. I will give you language instead of silence.

So here we go:

I am angry that someone who was dangerous in my childhood still impacts my adult life.

I am angry that I am parenting under-resourced and overwhelmed.

I am angry that my child’s biological parents do not choose consistency.

I am angry that I do not know half of what feels required to parent “well.”

I am angry that this raggedy ass apartment complex is raising the rent.

I am angry that I did not get that job.

I am angry that the person I’m emotionally invested in is emotionally stifled.

I am angry that I constantly have to prove, defend, advocate, and justify.

And I am furious that it is not my fault, but it is still my responsibility.

I am angry. And that is okay. Feeling angry does not equal being out of control. “Be angry, and sin not” does not mean anger is a sin.

On Clarity

I’ve been thinking about what emotional safety truly requires, and for me, it always comes back to clarity…

There's something precious about removing ambiguity in connection. Even when it's hard. Especially when it may hurt one or both people. At its most loving capacity, Clarity says, "I care about you too much to let you sit in the dark about who I am, where I am, and what I desire, so here is the information you need to be in the light." Other times, Clarity asserts "I respect you and myself too much to allow confusion." Understanding is thoughtful gift to give to another; it is a return of dignity. Ambiguity is where anxiety thrives. Clarity is where the muscles unclench.

...

In all of our getting, may we get understanding. Selah. Let it be so.

clar​i​ty

noun

clar·​i·​ty | \ ˈkler-ə-tē , ˈkla-rə- \

plural clar​i​ties

Definition

: the quality of being clear: such as

a: the quality of being easily understood

b: the state of having a full, detailed, and orderly mental grasp of something

c: the quality of being easily seen or heard

d: the quality of being easily seen through

e: a lack of marks, spots, or blemishes