Anger isn't a bad emotion.

You heard me, although I didn't believe it for myself.

I was raised in anger, passive aggression and walking on eggshells. I was the child listening to their parents' 'heated discussions' when I should have been sleeping. I would lie awake for hours over-analysing everything I said, and anything I could say to remedy the disruption, and try and make peace.

Maybe if I worded this differently, maybe if I sounded more enthusiastic, maybe if I apologised faster, maybe, maybe, maybe not.

I would like to caveat, the anger I was subject to as a child, was from my father. My mother is calm, kind and would do anything to protect the children. She would be the first line of defence and would try her best to prevent my sister and I being witness to our father's impatience, however a disposition cannot be hidden.

Aggression was normalised, it was part of life and I didn't know any alternative. Because hot and cold was homely as a child, I accepted it as an adult.

I've had a tumultuous dating life, where relationships became gradually more abusive. At 23, I became victim to a relationship which changed the trajectory of my life forever. He was angry, mad to the bone. The world had wronged him, and rather than right these wrongs, he channelled his anger into people he could control.

It was slow at first, a tantrum here, a cross word there, but it catastrophically spiralled on a gloriously sunny day. I was hospitalised, and I was trapped.

I was used to seeing men angry, but I had never, felt the floor vibrate from somebody scream at me. I have never, been scared like I was on that sunny day, and every day since during the relationship. I had never feared the sound of my own voice and the consequences a good deed good cause, I had never been scared to sleep and equally scared of being awake, and I had never feared for my life.

I accepted the abuse out of fear, but the initial warning signs were ignored, because a man being angry was normal to me. Just as my mum protected me as a child, I protected my family as an adult, because I didn't want them to know what I was experiencing.

I got free, not because one day I put my big girl pants on and told them how scared I was, but because they did something reckless and got arrested- even then, I took them back for a few weeks.

When I was in the relationship, I was always thinking, 'if I can get out, I'll be fine. It might take a few months to get over it, but I'll be okay.' A few months turned into a few more, and a year turned into two, and even now, typing this three years down the line, my stomach is in knots, my hands are tense and my mouth is curling in disgust.

When I got free, I was angry. I was furious. I had every right to be, after everything I had gone through, can you blame me? But it was directed at the world. The world had betrayed me, does this sound familiar? I was fuelled by adrenaline and defensiveness, convinced everybody was ready to cause me harm, and in a perpetual state of fight or flight. I had nightmares, triggers, flashbacks, panic attacks. I wasn't safe.

I was in denial for 13 months about what happened. When my Mum got diagnosed with Cancer, I had a mental breakdown. It took six months to access therapy, and in the meantime I was doing my own research to try and find answers to the plethora of unanswered questions I had. One thing I learned, which if you take anything from this article, I would like it to be this. Physical and mental health are entirely interlinked. Emotions which are internalised are just that, they do not disappear. Your body will attack itself. Gabor Mate calls self-expression 'healthy anger.' People who omit their feelings are higher risk of a multitude of health concerns, one of which is Cancer. Given my mother's recent diagnosis, and her people pleasing demeanour, this resonated too close to home. The need to fix myself became even more prominent, as although I was angry, it was not healthy. It dictated every interaction I had with the world and was not a healthy self-expression.

I knew I couldn't continue to live my life the way I had. I didn't want people to think of me and consider me angry. I wasn't an angry person before the abuse, and I didn't want to be afterwards. On my first therapy session I laid it all out on the table and waited for her to say some sort of spell which would fix me. Unfortunately, this didn't happen, and she said, 'I can see you're angry, but where do you feel it?' and I wrote this:

In my heart.

It's running through my arteries,

I know nothing about biology,

But I know this doesn't feel healthy.

It's so hot,

It's heavy,

And it scares me.

I've got so many memories hearing 'I see red,'

And now I'm the one doing it instead.

It feels like you're holding a mirror against me,

And it's not my reflection I can see,

I don't want to embody that person,

I'm righting my wrongs,

But I'm not trying to get even.

That's it,

It's clicked as I'm writing this.

I don't mind getting mad,

I’m reacting to the world instinctively,

I’m still in fight or flight,

And sometimes it gets the better of me-

I’m not punishing myself,

It's a natural reaction after everything I've been through,

The issue is,

When I get mad,

All I see is you.

And clicked it did. I associated my anger, with my abuser. I felt like I had absorbed them, and I was projecting it back onto the world. In my words, I had to do an exorcism, which I did through my poetry. Writing mantras and affirmations I would rehearse several times a day, until I felt like this person got out of me. It was ugly, it was tearful, but it was liberating.

It took a few months before I had fully moved past my anger, and part of me didn't want to let it go. It was a defence mechanism, and letting it out made me vulnerable, which was an emotion I hadn't allowed for a long time.

I'm telling you a short, palatable version of what transpired, and I'm going to skip to the good bit. The hope, the inspiration amongst this misery.

I'm nearly healed, and anger doesn't resonate with me anymore. I'm calm, I'm in control and I'm safe. I don't like getting mad, I don't like feeling my adrenaline spike, and I don't like the association I have with it. Recently, I was out with a friend and a man was getting too close, after I asked him to give me space, he touched me and told me to 'lighten up and have fun' and I saw red. Hot burning, rage. How, dare, he. I haven't been disrespected by a man in three years, and it's not going to start today. I am not, a shrinking violet anymore, and I will not, walk on eggshells. I said my piece, and swiftly left.

I spoke with my therapist about it, because I was concerned, I was regressing. That maybe a more healed version of myself wouldn't have bit, and they could let it slide; but then I'm not supposed to internalise emotions because that makes you sick. She explained the situation back, and said this man had overstepped a boundary, and my reaction was valid. She said, 'anger isn't a bad emotion' and it put the jigsaw puzzle pieces together in my brain.

I'm allowed to get mad; I was allowed to be mad after my abuse, and I'm allowed to get mad now. I just have a negative association with it, because of how I experienced it.

I've graduated therapy, and I have the tools to prepare me for the big, bad, good world. I have healthy anger, and I don't strive to be a perfect person who would be entirely unphased by somebody overstepping a boundary. I am allowed to have a presence, to interact and react with the world in a karmic way.

The next time somebody upsets me, I will attempt to work through the emotion, rather than feeling triggered by the emotion itself. It's always easier said than done, but I have the knowledge to be kind to myself when it happens. To accept that what I'm experiencing isn't a 'bad' emotion, it's relative to the circumstances I am in.

So get mad, but get past it.

Lots of love,

(And a little bit of anger)

Melissa x

Following my healing journey - @Melissamakesinsta

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