No one wants to talk about the rage. It feels shameful. We don’t understand it. But I’m here to finally say it… I feel rage.
Now rage may seem like a strong word and for many years I have battled within myself about how this element of my personality has been brought to the surface. More importantly I battled with how to get rid of it. I feel that way because it is so unspoken. These emotions are taboo in society and even more so for mums who feel they need to be the image of a guardian angel whilst raising their children. I know that I dislike the rage, I resist, it’s uncomfortable, unnerving and takes me away from myself. But one other thing I know is that it has its place, because once I understood where it was coming from I was able to accept it.
Now I know we have all been angry before, yet rage is on a whole new level. It’s all the tension, frustration, judgement, guilt and expectation rolled into one little ball pounding away on the walls inside your being. It’s the stuff you bury deep within and that is so desperate to be freed. So it can free you.
It’s all the stuff you need to honour but haven’t yet come to that realisation or readiness.
You need to let it out. As painful as it feels, as awful as you see yourself when this rage is pouring out of you. It has to come out. It can’t possibly stay within you and fester away. It’s like telling a volcano it can continue to create lava but it is never able to erupt and release pressure.
When I was diagnosed with depression I felt a sense of relief. A name for all the feelings, heaviness and of course sadness that had been replacing my light filled days with a cloak of darkness. I got it - I could see that I spent a lot of my time sad. Feeling distraught about how lost I felt. Not being able to take joy from life. But one thing no one talks about is the rage. In the midst of my depression that rage felt like an entity all to its own. It had such power and that power took away a little piece of me every time it forced it’s way to the surface. But I didn’t talk about it because it felt shameful to me. I was embarrassed (if that word even comes close) that as a mother I had this nastiness brewing within me.
As much as this is part of the picture for someone surviving each day with depression, I soon realised this is a reality for many. Depression or not. Rage stems from the stuff you put away within you. All the stuff you lock deep inside because it’s too painful or too hard to deal with. The stuff you can’t possibly acknowledge, follow through on or manifest. The unattained dreams, the broken relationships, the long days of parenting, the estranged children and family… it’s all deep down in there bubbling into something with force.
We cant hold this in. This is what leads to the rage.
I’m becoming better at being aware of where this is coming from, that it’s not because I’m crazy, or worse still because I am an awful mum. It’s simply because I ignored that which needed to be seen. I ignored that which needs to be honoured. It’s screaming out of me because it needs to be heard. The hardest part is that often my kids are on the end of this release. They see a mummy who can scream so hard it hurts her throat. Or a mummy who has to leave the room because that one smacked bottom seemed to escalate the rage. It’s not something I’m proud of. In fact I despise and hate the rage and I’m sure that will just feed it some more. But I’ve realised I don’t have to love something to be able to accept it. The rage isn’t me, it is all the things about me I have denied.
So for anyone who has these moments whether its rare or more frequent, know that
you are not alone. And I am willing to stand up and say I live with rage in my life. Sure, on most days I’m bubbly and happy but I am human and I experience the full range of human emotion and experience. I can’t hide behind the veil of secrecy that protects me from my own judgement or the fear of being judged by others. I know where the rage stems from, I know I need to serve that unspoken unanswered part of me by letting it out. I know that I have control over it, even though in the moment I have never felt more wild in my life. I know that I would never emotionally or physically harm my children even though I’m scared when I’m in the midst of it all. I know my children will soon forget that moment as it is always replaced and followed by love.
I’m not a perfect person, nor am I the perfect mother. But day by day I’m working on it. Day by day I am chipping away at all the stuff that feeds the rage and I’m giving it less to work with. The more I commit to serving that which lies ignored and wasted within me, the more I am opening space to change that rage into something constructive, something that is fuelled by love.
And that’s all we are here to do really, build ourselves up each and every moment into the truest version of YOU that you can be.