Anger and I have become good friends, since my childhood days.
Over the last couple of years, I’ve been learning how to dance with anger. Listening to its rhythm, identifying its triggers with every step, and practicing the basic moves. After all, it's about finding the right tempo – not too slow to fade into smoke, not so fast it immediately explodes. Now, I explore the whole dance floor, navigating different situations with a newfound appreciation for my anger. The more I practice, the more I understand.
The more I allow myself to be angry, the more I understand how my anger manifests.
My anger isn’t a sudden explosion, it’s a slow-burning ember behind my eyes. There are no immediate casualties, just a quiet, ominous glow and a few verbal warnings. My anger builds with each frustrating interaction, a steady escalation that intensifies the more I’m annoyed. No fiery outbursts are released, only withering glares and icy words are shared. Be it nature or nurture, I have a high tolerance for nonsense…until my reservoir of patience dries up.
Push me too far, and there’s no turning back. I descend into a glacial fury, where there lies nothing but icy, blue flames, ready to blaze up my target. At my angriest state is when I’m the most coldest.
I tear into the fabric of your soul.
I make you wish that you had never crossed me (or my loved ones).
I remind you that I am not one to be played with.
To be able to write this and know that I stand on it, makes me so damn proud. As I continued to dance with anger, I began to see it as nothing more than another tool in my arsenal to express myself to the world. I didn’t have to succumb to “the angry, Black woman” stereotype. I’m a young, Black woman trying to thrive in a patriarchal, capitalist society. I had plenty of reasons to be mad.
My anger deserved to join me out on the dance floor, just like every other feeling did.
I Would Rather Implode
Unfortunately, I didn’t feel this way about my anger when I was younger. In fact, I was so scared of my anger that whenever it offered to dance with me, I’d look down at my feet and completely ignore its existence.
I didn’t want to be known as “the angry, Black girl”.
I didn’t want my teachers telling my parents that I was “the angry, Black girl”.
I didn’t want other kids to call for me because I was known as “the angry, Black girl.”
So, I closed my eyes, took lots of deep breaths and blasted my music loud enough to erase away all my feelings of frustration, annoyance and anything resembling anger.
I simmered.
For years and years, I simmered.
My anger boiled from within my body with no physical or verbal release. I’d write down all my thoughts about difficult people and situations in my journal, but I was still mad.
I hadn’t been practicing my dance with anger at all, which only left me inexperienced to handle conflicts. I’d bite my tongue and spit out lies to keep the peace. Rather than explode at people, I would implode with all the words I left unsaid again and again.
It was a brutal, emotional cycle.
Meeting An Angry, Black Girl
Luckily, that began to change for me once I entered high school.
I met another Black girl who showed me how freeing it was to embrace the power within the “angry, Black girl” stereotype. I remember one of our conversations where she reminded me that anger was simply a feeling, just like happiness and it shouldn’t be weaponized, especially when expressed by Black people. Anger was neither good nor bad, it was only one of the many feelings that we all experience as humans.
Without meaning to, she had begun to show me the first steps of how I could dance with anger, without feeling afraid of the outcomes.
She would challenge me to slowly express my anger with the people I loved and trusted. She reminded me that I deserved to be heard when I’m upset, especially if I wanted more honest relationships. She’d show me how she handled her anger, which was explosive and direct, but also inspiring.
As our friendship blossomed, I was able to practice how to be an angry, Black girl in a way that made me feel comfortable.
I was able to become more in tune with my anger.
I was able to handle conflict in a healthier manner.
I was able to release the myself from simmering.
Anger and I
Since then, it’s been an incredibly emotional journey, filled with even more impactful people and experiences that have all played a part in refining my dance with anger.
I’m not an expert by any means, but imploding in silence is no longer an option for me. Instead, I meet my anger head-on, sometimes even extending the invitation first.
May you have the courage to do the same.
With love,
Kelisha (she/her)
Imploding is no longer an option!!