There’s an understanding surrounding anger in many of the recovery spaces I inhabit: anger is bad, anger is not productive. Where is this rooted?Â
I was assigned female at birth (AFAB). I have never been allowed to feel my anger. I have never been encouraged to be angry, to feel my rage. I have been taught to deny this emotion.Â
In the healing process, I need to feel anger. I need to be full of rage and break shit, scream, and use a punching bag. I cannot hide my anger anymore. I yearn to take up space. I long for queer community. I long to be seen, to be heard, to be sensual and beautiful and glow brightly in the world.Â
in the shower, brushing my teeth, chopping vegetables;
I met a man; bigger than me.
31-years-old, who I worshiped.
He’d write me recommendations to internships
and tell me I was pretty, smart, beautiful.
What more could I ask for?
If I could say anything to the child that I was
when he began to groom me;
to brush down my hard edges,
soften my intuition to a pulp;
You are more than smart, more than beautiful, more than pretty,
more than some 31-year old’s bitch.
You, my child, are fucking angry and queer
and full of complexities.
A work in progress, never to be fully finished.
Take every word that he told you,
for every sideways flirt and professional favor that he offers,
read in between the lines.
Goldenrod and honey moves through your blood
and no amount of inappropriate attention could give you the self-fulfillment you seek.
What does healing look like for you? What does this journey mean to you, whoever is out there reading this? Is there life after trauma?Â
izzy806
prguitarman
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
titsay
