I’ve been rumbling with anger lately. What started as simple curiosity—just noticing its presence and observing my knee-jerk reaction to ignore or disown it, mostly folding back into shame and guilt—has unfolded into a deeper exploration. I’ve discovered pools of unacknowledged anger that have seeped into hidden cracks, leaking out as resentment, festering in places I didn’t even realize existed. It erupts unpredictably, often where I or others least expect it.
As a mother of both teenagers and toddlers, while navigating the complexities of family relationships and renegotiating the ways I show up in my marriage, anger has been a particularly sticky companion. It didn’t arrive as a neatly wrapped gift, ready to be unwrapped with delight on a cozy Christmas morning. Instead, it came disguised as emotional withdrawal, blame, guilt, shame, and yes—outbursts of anger. This emotion has proven the most difficult to understand and integrate into who I am becoming without straining my most cherished relationships.
Over the years, as I’ve worked to heal and grow, I’ve developed a sequence of explorations that have helped me reintegrate parts of myself that were exiled, ignored, or weaponized. This process often takes me backward, beyond my own childhood, into the stories of the women in my lineage—my sisters, my mother, her mother, and the women before them. By investigating how these women navigated their lives, shaped by the lenses of culture and spirituality, I gain profound insight into myself.
This exploration is not about blame or praise. It is a curiosity-driven antidote to victimhood. It allows me to better understand the women in my life, improve my relationships with them, and—most importantly—grasp the patterns I carry within me. This understanding has helped me break cycles and prevent passing unhealed wounds to my daughters.
Through this process, I’ve unraveled complex emotions and experiences—shame, power, victimhood, success, blame, love, and spirituality. Each has become clearer, more accessible, and even transformative.
But anger remains my most challenging companion. I’ve realized my lack of vocabulary and framework for it. The mental folder labeled “woman and anger” in my mind comes up empty or pulls images of women experiencing something that resembles a psychotic episode. Seeing woman as anything other than 'sugar and spice' , nurturer or peacemaking glue in families and communitiues is a foreign landscape for me and many others. Not surprisingly, the few examples I’ve seen of angry women in my culture and upbringing were often framed as unstable or consumed by their anger, leaving no model for expressing anger in a healthy, constructive way.
It’s not much different in the Western society I live in. Women’s anger—whether expressed in movements for social change or in personal lives—often provokes discomfort, in men and women alike. It is seen as disruptive, an erroneous thread in the fabric of society.
But this is not a piece about justifying the collective anger women face. Nor is it a case for feminism. Rather, it’s the chronicle of a woman who chose to examine the anger she carries—a force that exists alongside her nurturing, loving persona. She began to notice how disproportionately this anger was rejected, even by herself, and set out to level her internal playing field. In doing so, she sought to grant all parts of herself the right to exist in harmony.
The women I’ve known—myself included—often expressed anger as resentment, helpless tears, or emotional withdrawal. Many bore the “difficult woman” label, creating distance between themselves and others, except for their children, who had no choice but to absorb the remnants of their mother's and sisters' unresolved emotions.
I come from this lineage of women. I was one of them, until I decided I wasn’t.
Now, I’m learning to dance with anger. It’s a process—not a perfected skill but a journey of curiosity and understanding. When anger rises, I ask myself why it’s there, why now and why it’s directed at this particular thing or person. I question what anger needs from me and how I can meet those needs without harm to myself or others. I pay attention to how sensing anger feels in my body and what it creates in those around me.
I’ve learned to write down what the anger is truly about or if it has hijacked another issue in order to be seen and felt somehow, anyhow. I have learned to explore what a solution might look and feel like. This intentional practice is slowly redefining my relationship with anger, turning it from a source of shame and confusion into a teacher.
Anger is not an enemy. Rather a signal, a protector, and a guide. It asks us to confront discomfort, to uncover unmet needs, and to realign with what matters most to us. For women like me, shaped by generations of unspoken anger and unhealed wounds, learning to understand and integrate this emotion is an act of self-liberation. Undeniably, it is worth our focus if we choose to work on our own healing and changing the default trajectory of relationships important to us.
Your anger no longer needs to be suppressed or weaponized; it can be met with curiosity, compassion, and care. It can be acknowledged without consuming you or harming your relationships. It can be validated and understood by you so that when it is time to engage in dialogue that seeks change, you are free to go about the business of communicating your needs and observations clearly.
As I continue on this journey, I embrace the challenge of expressing anger with clarity and poise, knowing that this process is not just about me—it’s about healing the line of women before me and reshaping the legacy I leave for my daughters.
This is the gift of anger—not wrapped in a bow, but in its raw, transformative power. It calls us to evolve, to deepen, and to become more whole.
With Love,
Tiemert
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