Dear Reader, I’m angry today.
I’m not as angry as I was yesterday. Yesterday, I was so angry my level of concern was relatively low. However, there was still concern there. Anger is an emotion that gets swept under my rug. Anger is an emotion I only allowed myself to feel when no other emotions could accurately articulate my inability to experience breakthroughs in communication. Usually, when I’m angry, that anger occurs because maybe the person I was attempting to connect with or be understood by had no interest in valuing my perspectives. Even worse, perhaps they were consciously succeeding at making me feel devalued.
Because of my cultural background, I’ve learned that anger is a bad word and that mad is only something that animals experience. To be in my body and to behave like an animal was to confirm every harmful stereotype about people who look like me. So, instead of being mad, I became sad.
Sadness was always treated as the more appropriate emotion, the human emotion. Still, sadness never quite conveyed the change I had hoped for. Instead, sadness felt like a defeat, an outward acknowledgment of my insignificance. It was the only safe emotion to express when “it is what it is” and “that’s all folks.”
I’m so angry at the lack of words to convey the sadness I release for every moment I betrayed myself. The funny thing about language is so often we learn it intuitively. Therefore, without specific ego-defining encounters with novelty, we are objectively obvious. Our spiritual development may be unimaginably stunted without exposure to particular environments, social stimuli, and physical conditions. The way I learned to express anger came in two forms:
Fed-Up.
Be Better.
Fed-up occurs as a form of overdue emotional honesty—fed-up anger results from continued faith and consistent disappointment. Fed-up happens when I’ve given the benefit of the doubt at a higher ratio than I've given the benefit of belief. Fed-up is a form of anger I’ve learned to manage better with age; I have become much better at knowing the cues to exit rooms and when to forgive friends who never called. Through a series of events best encapsulated by the “Three of Swords” card in Tarot, I’ve learned that when there is no limitation to kindness or respect, there is no negotiating with people who would instead leave my needs as unmet. Sometimes, I’m too good at managing fed-up; my ability to compose my anger and frustration behind closed doors or with unmentioned best friends speaks to my Scorpionic-like discretion. To me, anger is private unless expressed in its mentioned form.
Be Better. My one saving grace was that my mother taught me to believe in myself subconsciously. She continuously cheered for me and rooted for me in a way that helped me remember that love is real. The faith and belief instilled in her programmed me to love myself as if my life depended on it. As I understand human life, we have a subconscious desire to live. Our desire to exist is so powerful that even if we try to cease to go on, our bodies will fight to survive. That is the love that my mother taught me to have for myself. Love has become so integral to my being that loving myself is instinctual.
To be angry is to propel sadness into action. Fed-up is my flight method, and Be Better is my version of the fight. To be better is to believe that, despite the betrayal that precedes anger, I deserve more than what an experience made me feel. To be better means that I will be self-determined as long as my lungs are functioning, my heart is beating, and my brain is sending signals between my neurons.
Over the past two weeks, I have felt so angry; the betrayal does not necessarily exist in places people may assume. The frustration was born from intimacy with people who only had lessons to offer, whereas my need was compassion. Compati. A lack of compatibility. Compati, meaning shared suffering or empathy, highlights the essence of connection. It is the basis for compatibility in human relationships, a shared understanding that bridges the gap between our needs and others’ actions. I understand there is a popular thought that we should not expect that idea. How do you suggest that we have no expectations yet believe that we should have trust?
An expectation is simply a firm belief of what could come. I understand the idea of having minimal beliefs in strangers. Still, this notion that we should have no expectations seems so individualistic, as if we humans are not at least somewhat predictable.
To trust is to extend a part of ourselves, a vulnerability that can’t exist in a vacuum. Without the foundation of shared predictability or mutual understanding, trust feels hollow—a gamble without weight. How nihilistic will we let ourselves be?
The fight that anger brings me to is to understand the human condition better. I want to be a better active listener and lead with more objectivity. I want to do actions that will better my mind, body, and soul. So here I am, writing to you. Through writing, I’m seeking not just understanding but also growth—a reminder that even anger, when given direction, can lead to transformation.
Thank you for reading. <3
With love,
Monisha xoxo
