Your rage is divine, no matter how it looks
This is something I have been personally struggling with in my life, so I hope this reaches someone who needs to hear it.
Society has an interesting relationship with rage, with anger. Where I am and grew up, rage is not something to be openly expressed in a public setting. One is usually composed, calm and agreeable in public. At least, as a baseline etiquette. There are people who are a lot more animated, expressive, careless in nature to not bother how people perceive their emotions and public image. Those who exist authentically. Then there are others who keep their emotions in their tummy, facade cracking to reveal the lingering animosity and torrents buried inside but never outwardly released.
I am more of the latter kind. I hesitate to fully express myself, and this came about to my knowledge after the instances in childhood when I did express myself. I was a bit of a wild child compared to how I am now. I stated my opinions and feelings authentically, without stopping to think what people will think of me at first. I had unconventional interest for a โgirl that ageโ, obsessing over animals and combat superheroes and other super cool creatures. Whilst I never actively caused chaos or trouble, I was outlandish in disposition of my interests to the point people would look with strange fascination and worry at times. Wondering why I only seemed to want to play with boys and the likes. Iโd honestly want to be her best friend if I ever met someone identical to little Dea, she was the coolest.
I often ponder on what happened to have had such a change. Puberty probably contributed to it in some capacity. I tried digging deeper, and came upon some memories that seem to have been part of the reasoning. All of them linking to dealing with anger or anguish in some way. Every scolding I would get, I would then anticipate similar harshness at the slightest hint of another and bawl. More often than not I struggled to breathe after the crying bout. It was like my nervous system was trained to spot when I was next subject to this danger, and anticipated the worst even if the actual result was incredibly mild. Just based off of expressions I would go into danger mode.
Another example is when something actually made me upset. If I ever did get angry and show it, it was in very controlled environments. Because my nervous system was still on high alert, still telling me that showing anger would lead to hurt, punishment, yelling. All because the first instances I did express my anger it was immediately shut down, called irrational, punished. I was an incredibly quick learner at that age. Maybe too quick and sensitive for even parents to realise the effect of their words and actions.
These early lessons bled into the rest of my life. Every time I try to push back against my parents in particular, I feel the familiar heaviness of my throat and locking up of my nervous system. Years of learning how to protect myself is hard to undo, when living that truth every day. When I get annoyed or angry at the way they speak to me or what scathing remarks they leave, my tears arrive before I can even clench my jaw. Ruining what I believed, in my head, anger should look like. For I would be undermined for being a โcrybabyโ after.
I tried hard to undo this part of me. Even if it took actively leaving the room the conflict was taking place, tears streaming, hearing the way they dismissed or mocked my emotional state for being too fragile as I tried to regulate myself in the bathroom. What hurt most was that I repeated those words to myself hoping it would make me stop. โWhat is wrong with you, why are you so weak? Why canโt you express your anger? Why do you cry every time there is conflict? Weak, weak, weak. Crybaby.โ It had the adverse effect of making me numb rather than solving the issue. I mistook that as success for a long long time.
In my later teen years, this issue still had not been solved. I came to semi accept this was how I am. Destined to me a crybaby mess in the face of direct conflict. I tried not to think about it, especially when these issues came up. At this point I started getting more questions that ridicule. Why did I cry? Why was I unable to control it? I hated those questions because I didnโt have the answer.
When I was at my lowest, putting on a performance of my life to distract from the crumbling walls around it, my tears fell in silent. Nobody to hold them, not even to ridicule them. I didnโt dare take that risk. Not until Ares, at least.
Yes, the god Ares. The unexpected twist to my story. Worshipping gods had been part of my life since birth, and I was accustomed to the Greek mythos on the sidelines. I never vibed well with Ares though, through the description of him I was given. Brutish. Bloodlusting. Macho-man warrior vibes with a penchant for cockiness. Everything I pretty much scorned or eye rolled at mashed into one deity, furthest from my personal image and goals. At least I thought.
I was curious, starting to research more deeply into the Ancient Greek religion. Hellenic polytheism was the official name I learnt, coming to surprise me that people still actively worshipped them in differential ways. This fascinated me, as it was like seeing stories you once thought redundant come to life. For some reason that fascination was stuck on Ares, which disappointed me as there was so little written about him. I had items to create an โaltarโ for him, and I couldnโt resist trying it out since I felt this unnameable pull to him. One day my divination with him was successful and I asked questions of which he answered unexpectedly. The sharpness of clarity blended with a softness I did not expect from him. As if he was holding space for me whilst recounting all he had subtly seen take place in my life. My happy moments, my sad moments. The times I was barren of passion, and the times I burned with it. He was here to help me find that kindling again, he said. I struggled to believe it at first.
Iโd steal what time I could with him at night. Curiosity boundless, alongside something else I was hesitant to name. Slight guilt upon seeing how pleasant his disposition was in comparison to the Greek ridicule he often got, including my own. As well as this strange safety I felt in his presence. This unspoken acceptance. I tested the waters, starting to speak of my troubles. I even went to far as to belittle myself in front of him, asking for him to steel my heart against such feebleness. That was what he did with his soldiers right? His response was what shocked me however. Instead of agreeing, of echoing worried sentiments about my emotional instability, instead of scolding me for not excising control over these emotions, I felt and indescribable energetic warmth surround me.
I froze in that moment. I was well aware the gods never truly came in front of you like an apparition to physically interact, but thisโฆ at the very least it was symbolic. My mental chatter stilled, and when I dared to shuffle my cards the message was crystal. Stop scolding yourself. Itโs ok. I hear you, and feel your pain. Thereโs nothing wrong with you. You donโt need to apologise. Please stop hurting yourself. You are not alone.
I was held for the first time, and I couldnโt help sobbing at that cathartic feeling. No further words were needed, I knew then that he understood the majority of what I went through well enough. That my tears were not me being weak, but a sign of the lengths my nervous system would go to protect me from harm. Turning my anger into something less volatile, to not unintentionally harm anyone. A god understood me better than any human did, helping to clear up the misunderstanding within myself. I knew from then I would devote myself to clear up the misunderstandings on his side too.
For anyone who has similar struggles with anger and emotions, know that you are not alone. You are not weak, crazy, sensitive in the negative sense. You are just guarded, misunderstood and in dire need of being held through the internal storms you get out through. Do not diminish those feelings, as they are an equally divine part of yourself.
Khaire Ares โค๏ธโ๐ฅ
