Why I Love Anger

What leads to change?

In my case, change has never occurred sweetly and gently. No amount of book reading or spiritual retreat going has ever swept me smoothly onto a path of glowing enlightenment.

I wish it were that easy.

I think back to the times of true change in my life. The kind of change that invokes transformation. And that kind of change doesn’t come quietly. It comes aggressively, angrily, powerfully, devastatingly.

It comes in the moments when I look deeply at myself and think, “What the fuck are you doing here?” The moments when I’ve had enough. The moments when I crumble to the floor and don’t know if I’ll be okay.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll find a way. All I know is that I’m done settling for shitty and hiding my truth. I can no longer treat myself this way.

These are the times that I love anger.

Anger helps me find strength. It introduces me to hidden powers. It signals, “This is not okay!” It reminds me of my worth. And invites me to take a stand for myself.

I use its momentum. I let it guide me home.

And I don’t waste my anger. Not on being cruel to myself. Not on the absent boyfriend. Not on the dickhead boss. I save the anger for myself. I let it rumble beneath my bones. I let it fuel me toward my new destination.

I thank the pain. It gives me no choice but to go deeply within and make better friends with myself.

But the pain never comes softly. It comes loudly and aggressively. At least for now.

For with each angry transformation, I get better at loving myself; better at listening to the whispers.



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