Monday, December 12, 2016


It is the emotion I am most afraid of. I avoid it the way other people avoid carbs or gluten. "Does this have anger in it? No thanks, I'll get the salad."

I've always treated anger like it's some kind of shameful, useless, emotion that only poisons or destroys. I've swallowed anger for so many years that is has become a hot, heavy thing, that sits inside me, stewing, simmering, boiling, every so often vomiting up like a foul and odious sickness. I pretend I don't feel it. I snark. I avoid. Sometimes I even starve.

Lately, though, all I've been able to feel is anger. Or despair. Those are not great emotional bedfellows.

And then I thought about all the ways that anger can be the only reasonable response. Rational, even. That, when things are bad and unfair and terrible, anger is the sensible, normal, thing to feel.

I am angry. I am, in many ways, absolutely incandescent with rage.

And I am not sorry. I am not sorry that racism, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, hate, climate denial, white supremacy, voter disenfranchisement, and fear, make me angry. That I believe they are wrong and must be stood against, sometimes with fists ready and voices raised.

I am angry and I have the right to be. I am angry and, throughout history, anger has been a part of change. It has been part of the winds and fires that withstand and destroy the engines of hate.

So I will be angry. You can be understanding and I will support you, with my angry words and voice and screams.