the hidden strength in rage …

Last week, I had this amazing experience. The moon was out and while it was still a few days away from the Full Moon, the hilltop was clearly lit by its luminous energy.

As I got ready for bed, I had this pull to take some time for Rage Hour.

I decided to have this dedicated hour because it’s quite apparent to me (especially through my writings) that I have unprocessed rage in me.

Where is there a safe space for this in modern society? It’s unacceptable to act out our rage with utter abandon, so how then do we process it?

I’ve been journaling when I get angry, but oftentimes, as science is now corroborating, emotions live in our body as well. We can process it mentally on paper or with a friend, but sometimes it needs to be processed by the body as well.

Scientists have observed that animals literally shiver and tremble after a stressful situation. They “shake” off the trauma. For more information, check out Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers by neurologist Robert Sapolsky and Waking the Tiger by trauma therapist Peter Levine. There’s even a practice developed by Dr. David Berceli called Tension & Trauma Release Exercises (TRE). I haven’t looked into the practice other than knowing it exists. And I had a similar release back in Puerto Rico, which I wrote about here, but this was more intentional because I know more of the process now so I just followed my intuition.

This night, I started on my knees in bed, turned on some music that was loud and chaotic but still rhythmic. And I allowed myself to be guided to a specific area that I wanted to heal and forgive.

At first, it felt awkward getting started. I talked out loud to the person, imagining them in front of me and what I’ve been wanting to say to them for years. But it didn’t take long for the emotions to start trickling in and I felt the anger that simmers under the surface bubble up rather quickly into a roaring boil.

I was yelling and punching the pillow in front of me. Cursing and growling through my teeth and sobbing and crying and hissing and howling and punching and thrashing and kicking. Everything that wanted to pulse out of me I let it go unfiltered.

I forgot that my poor dog, Changa, was in the room with me and she was now whimpering at the door. I let her out and resumed my practice, marinating in the anger and the buzzing energy that now lived inside the room. But the energy didn’t feel sickly or toxic, it felt refreshing and alive. It was authentic and being released freshly, not as stale air that puffs out in moments of triggered wounds.

And I kept going, everything that I wanted to yell back all those years ago, all the hurt and all the why’s, all the anguish, all my related suffering I allowed to course through me and out of me onto the pillow, into the air, out of my body that’s been bent all out of shape trying to keep myself alive and accepted by those around me.

I kept going and going with so much abandon, not thinking about whether I looked stupid or crazy or ridiculous. And here, on this wide expanse of land and hilltop with jungle surrounding me and the echo of a lake far below me, I felt it possible to do so. Until I was sweating and my voice was hoarse and I had nothing else to say in the moment. And I was riding high on the adrenaline, enlivened and light.

So I ran outside, carrying my speaker, bringing the music and life and started to dance. Stomping wildly like a little kid having a temper tantrum and rhythmically like a Native at a pow wow and throwing my arms wildly up and down, shaking all the tension out of this body, jumping in the moonlight and moving my body every which way it wanted to go. On this hilltop and on this land it feels so primal that I could feel nature, the trees, critters, bugs, earth, the moon, watching me and feeling me and nodding approvingly. Yes, girl, get it, we feel you.

It didn’t even last very long, it was only 20 minutes or so before I collapsed into a camping chair in the meadow, staring at the moon, soaking in what I had just gone through and it was an incredible feeling. I burst out laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all.

I can’t describe it any other way than I felt high. I felt like I was tripping. I had so much electric energy inside of me and it was crystal clear, like I was a piece of copper wire with pure energy zipping through my meridians. I felt detoxified like the coldest spring water was running through me. I felt so fucking alive in a way that I rarely feel apart from when I’ve been on drugs and gone to an amazing show where I really let loose and allow myself to be free, dance free, smile free, jump free, and wildly laugh.

Interestingly, what came out with the Rage was a supreme confidence. And as I settled into my chair, I felt that part of me, the confidence, long dried and solidified into some tiny scab of a corner melt like butter into every inch of me, lubricating my essence and the crevices of my being with this warmth and ease of confidence in myself. Again, I felt as if I was on mushrooms, unbothered by how I was supposed to be and content with just being. I felt strong in myself.

How interesting that what was tethered to my rage was confidence and strength like linked genes where when one turns on, so does the other. It’s that warrior energy, that protective energy that stands up and speaks clearly and boldly. And when I tried to stifle my rage as unacceptable, I also unknowingly repressed my confidence. But when I allowed my rage to freely flow, it’s as if the same dam that held that back, also lifted the walls to my confidence.