Yup. I’m angry. I’m angry that I’m angry. I’m angry that I don’t know how to be angry. I’m angry that I don’t know if it’s ok for me to be angry. I’m angry that it feels ugly to be angry. I’m angry that I feel like I missed the lesson on constructive anger. I’m angry that I wasn’t taught that anger is just another basic human emotion. I’m angry that I don’t know what to do with my anger at the moment.

Now, it’s ok, my sweet friends. I’m not Raging Angry. I’m not Bitter Angry. And I’m not Violent Angry. I’m just Calm Angry. Just like my daily emotions cycle between happiness, sadness, anxiousness and hopefulness, I’m ready to throw some anger into that messy mix.  

John gets angry. He’s pretty good at it. But I’m not his type of angry. Lydia can have some anger issues occasionally, but mostly I think she’s pretty cute when she feels angry (plus she’s 13 years old). My sister can get super pissed, but my anger isn’t like hers either. My dad used to fume! But I don’t feel like I’m seething the way he could. I’m like a low-level, quiet angry person. Yeah. Calm Angry.

Let’s explore.

Anger is different than being annoyed. For instance, I’m annoyed that my kids still don’t pick up their shit around the house. I’m annoyed that when John offers to cook dinner he doesn’t really do it right (aka My Way). I’m annoyed that the Sunday New York Times will sit in it’s bright blue condom bag all week long and I’ll just have to recycle it before the next one comes and mocks me. I’m annoyed that twenty-below days are right around the corner and I’ll have to decide whether to breathe through my nose and have my nose hairs freeze or breathe through my mouth and have my teeth freeze. I’m annoyed that, yes, I will happily enjoy that third glass of wine, thank you, and completely forget about red wine headaches. I’m annoyed that even though I have diligently taught my three children to never kill a living thing, even bugs in the house, that I just had to kill a spider, BECAUSE IT WAS ON MY BED! So annoying.

Anger is different. It is deeper, broader and more bewildering. It’s less of a roll-your-eyes sort of thing and more of a pry your fingernails out of your palms and try to breathe sort of thing. Anger has an unsettling and serious vibe and being annoyed is fickle and fleeting.

Also, it’s important that I make the distinction between my Calm Anger and what I’ll call my Crazy Anger. I only bring this up because recently I have been guilty of a few out-of-body experiences where I’m not exactly sure who threw the scrub brush across the kitchen but when the room goes quiet and everyone slowly tiptoes backwards out of the room….yeah, it was me. So weird.

Perhaps my anger is related to my People Pleasing habit.  Am I afraid of disappointing someone? Or offending someone? Is it inconvenient or unattractive? Could I possibly be just a human being with a human feeling and not everyone’s happy hero? If I admit that I’m angry, really angry…what would happen? Shall we find out?

Ok, let’s see, here are just a few things I’m angry about today:

I’m angry about my period. Because of my age or my lining or my cycle or my perimenopause or my whatever, for at least two days a month my period is so heavy I can’t do anything. Like, nothing at all. I bleed so much that at worst, I nearly pass out or at best, I am physically exhausted. For two whole days. Each month. So that means that 24 days a year, almost a MONTH, I am sorta useless. Only because I’m 46 and I have a uterus. All of those wasted days sitting around hemorrhaging…omg, so mad.  

You might not be surprised that I’m angry about Privilege this week. I’ve started to call it the Privilege Paradox and I have a whole essay written on the topic. I’ll hyperlink it here after I publish it. It’s a whopper, but briefly, I discuss that we must acknowledge that Privilege is everywhere. It’s a system. And it’s part of this Cosmic Crapshoot where we have no fucking control over a bunch of stuff. The paradox comes in because I see some people in Privilege Shame and others in Privilege Blindness. Neither are good scenarios. In shame, we are embarrassed that others suffer when we don’t and we are hesitant to use platforms and gifts and talents and money…and that doesn’t help the world at all. On the other hand, people who are blind to their privilege use power irresponsibly and that doesn’t help the world either. You see? The injustice of it all makes me so mad!  

I get angry when I see people on social media announce that they will unfriend or block anyone that feels differently than them, in particular about politics and important issues affecting our country and world. Do they think that more divisiveness is the answer and that we need to retreat even further into our respective echo chambers?! We don’t need additional obstacles to mutual respect and understanding. Omg, people, we need to read other viewpoints and gently try to understand other perspectives. Not to mention that you need to Snopes that shit before you Share that shit! Argh! Anyway, I find people who aren’t critical thinkers extremely vexing.

And, I’m so freaking pissed off that my dad died. For a million reasons. But I’ll just mention three off the top of my head. Number One. He literally would have been the best grandpa in the history of the whole world, you guys. I know, I know, your grandpa was great. Sorry, my dad would have surpassed normal-grandpa-greatness. If you had known him, you’d totally agree with me. So mad.

Secondly, I feel like he only half-parented me and my siblings. There is the dad that you need from birth to adulthood, and then there is the dad that you need from your 20’s and on. You know, the dad you now finally agree with and listen to? I could really use his voice and yes, nine times out of ten, I know what he’d probably say, but that just isn’t the same as talking with your dad about life. I crave his wisdom. So mad.

Anyway, lastly, I’m not sure a lot of you know this, but my dad knew this whole  patriarchal system crisis was coming. Twenty-five years ago, he was researching Men’s Studies and analyzing the backlash of the Feminist Movement from a white male perspective. You see, my dad was the quintessential critical thinker. He was super curious about all this stuff. Plus, he was an emotional dad. He was sort of a “mothering” dad. Dad was proud that he could cook, clean, sing, play piano, garden, comfort, cry and still be A Man. He would boast that we had gender role-reversals in our family and he taught us kids that people aren’t merely one thing or another, masculine or feminine, defined by their careers or habits or hobbies or talents. Rather there is a wide and beautiful spectrum of people and the crucial part is to never judge anyone. So in this hot political and social climate of the #metoo movement, I know he would be a leading thinker, or writer, or teacher or speaker on this topic. He could have guided some really key conversations in an effort to reduce the division we see now. It makes me really REALLY angry that my dad couldn’t be here for this, for us. So mad.

What am I supposed to do with all of this anger now?

Gratitude Pushers might encourage me to be thankful for the many many blessings I have. Super Christians might remind me to “be slow to anger,” as I think it says somewhere in the Bible.

I find these suggestions unhelpful.

Now that I recognize this feeling of anger, I’d prefer to make it useful, rather than push it all back down. And that brings me to Maya Angelou’s quote about Anger that I recently ran across from a Black Lives Matter activist that I follow.

“If you’re not angry, you’re either a stone, or you’re too sick to be angry. You should be angry. You must not be bitter. Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. It doesn’t do anything to the object of its displeasure. So use that anger, yes. You write it. You paint it. You dance it. You march it. You vote it. You do everything about it. You talk it. Never stop talking it.”

So. For now. I’m writing it. Writing is constructive. Storytelling is powerful. And why is that, I wonder. Connection. Empathy. Compassion. Curiosity. Understanding. Aren’t we all just wounded hearts walking around this place anyway? Don’t we all need a truck load of compassion. And honestly, there are only so many Breitbart articles or Native American novels or Southern Poverty Law Center findings or transgender stories or BBC reports or Trump tweets that I can read. And I promise I won’t stop, but I don’t want you guys to stop, either. We’re in this together! Storytelling will lead to compassion. Never stop talking it. “It’s ok, Gretchen, you can be angry.” xo