When I close my eyes lately, I find myself imagining the shapes my rage has taken inside of me. Sometimes it’s a small, burning ember, like the last remnants of a stick of incense or a campfire long after everyone has retired to their tents. Then, other times, it’s a fiery ball- bright red and lava hot. Yesterday I saw a figure. My rage was a body and a head, long arms, sharp fingers and fingernailed toes. My rage had a face with no eyes but two large nostrils and a wide, gaping mouth. My rage could not see clearly, or at all, but could smell lies and deception, fear and sadness. My rage could scream, noiselessly but fiercely, into shared and stale air.
My rage had morphed into human form, I think, because of its depth and size and reach.
This is ironic, really, because I’m not an angry person by nature. I have some anger in my genes, but I’ve done long and hard work to channel inclinations and impulses. I’ve ensured that my responses are thoughtful. When I feel a spark light within me, I alchemize with the intention of forward motion, rather than stewing or allowing a meaningless outburst. I consider how my feelings serve me. That doesn’t mean I never get spicy, but it simply means that my feelings are useful for me, in whatever form that takes.
But lately, it feels like there are tracks being nailed down on my insides. Small, pointy metal ends penetrating a soft, permeable core. I feel too delicate to deal with everything at once. It feels too overwhelming, too mind-bending. Too much. Just too, too much.
Too much misogyny, too much hatred, too much fighting, too much grief, too much erasure, too much irreverence, too much ignorance, too much everything.
Everyone is so angry and so sad, and I’ve tried to remain stoic and so, instead of calming myself, I somehow created a shadow person. A person molded of outrage and disappointment. Someone who wants to shake everyone and shake me and then, maybe, disappear.
And I think that person formed some time ago and I’ve been able to keep them quiet. Napping, maybe. Or perhaps, just lurking in corners, waiting to emerge in a speed workout or some aggressive strength training. But then, yesterday came. Then, I was told that something I wanted to happen couldn’t because- women. Because it helped women. And we can’t talk about helping women anymore because it offends people, apparently. Because when we help women, we are giving them an advantage that they don’t deserve. When we help women, we are pretending that they aren’t treated equitably, when they are, always. Right? When we help women, we are intimating that all the work to give women the same treatment as men is not yet done. Right?
Because the world is fair, now. RIGHT? Because it has been fair. RIGHT? And the last thing we want to do is upset the absolutely even Steven, fair situation we find ourselves in by giving ANYONE, least of all women, a hand. RIGHT?!
Except that I’ve been in my industry for 20+ years, and I can tell you that we are light years away from fair. Except that I’ve been a woman for 44 years (and a few months) and I can tell you that I do not have every advantage, except those afforded me by privilege (which are extensive and still, I suffer). Except that I recognize that things are unfair in so many ways and while the ways in which we try and achieve equity are imperfect, I think we would be better served by modification than elimination.
Why can’t we try and fix things? Why are we always so intent on throwing things in the garbage that don’t seem to work? Why do we take one failing and determine the whole system broken and unworthy? Why do we mostly discard a program or system or thought when it has to do with minorities and marginalized people?
And then, I also know that I tend to want to explain and apologize a lot, particularly when I react to the inequity. I will constantly tell the men in my life or others that I don’t mean THEM when I’m raging. It’s not you- it’s just the system. But aren’t we all sort of responsible for the system? If we stay quiet in the face of utter depravity, doesn’t that just mean that we are part of the problem?
I think so. I think sometimes I’ve been part of the problem because I prefer to bury my anxiety rather than allowing it to bubble to the surface. Sometimes I think that there is something to this idea that avoidance is safe, and hope is gratifying, and moving around it is the same as moving through it.
I don’t really know anymore, except that I know that hasn’t really been working and the most significant evidence of that fact is the rage formed human that is dancing around in my soul. There is no run that will disappear it. No piece of writing. No piece of candy. No peaceful slumber. There is no erasing it because somehow, we’ve reached a tipping point. I’ve reached a tipping point. A point in which we fair to care for each other, at all. A point of pervasive and devastating rugged individualism. A point where I tip over into despair and grief and darkness. And I don’t want to be dark. I want to be light, and happy and I want to think that things are going to trend in a better direction. I want to believe that people are generally good, and the crappy humans tend to get more attention. I want to believe that the best humans among us can conquer shitty things that happen to them and survival is always possible and that things do happen for a reason.
But what is the reason?
I think I’m at a loss right now.
Do we just need some equalizing? Maybe everything needs to shake itself out, so we land in a place that’s better where we have a greater appreciation for everything and everyone?
Why is that necessary? Why can’t we figure it out before this point?
I know I’m going to get a handle on this rage figure dancing around my soul, but first, I need to let her out a little. First, I need to say, as I have, that we can do better.
We can care about each other, more.
We can care about the shit that doesn’t really matter, less.
We can decide that people filled with hatred aren’t the best humans to tell us how to live.
We can decide that people filled with love probably have a better handle on, well, everything.
We can determine that validation is a thing we’ve been taught but it’s not a thing that’s useful.
We can believe who people are based on what they do, and not what they say.
We can be brighter and kinder and gentler, with ourselves and with each other.
We can be upstanders, even when it’s scary.
We can tell people we love, even people we respect, that they are wrong and misguided, without crucifying them.
We can vote.
We can use our resources wisely.
We can take a breath.
We can do better.
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