My therapist says…

You need to feel your feelings

At the end of our long summer holiday, we both caught glimpses of the initial spark of our love. It was exhilarating to truly see the person you fell in love with so many years ago, and – somewhat emotionally and physically starved – we acted on it like two hormonal teenagers. Looking back, it was too much, too fast. Just like going on a juice cleanse for ten days and then wolfing down an entire cake, it wasn’t a good idea. 

Reality has caught up with us in no time, and I found myself feeling exhausted and craving space more than ever. I am suffocating under all things household and kids, and when my husband comes home late, I more often want to retreat to my room to work (or watch Netflix in peace) than have a conversation. It’s the same shit all over again. 

It’s not a pretty thing to admit, but I feel the resentment and bitterness building up in me. There’s something to be said about being a reasonable person who doesn’t scream and shout, but sometimes, I think I should have done exactly that. And maybe thrown a couple of plates, just for dramatic effect (and because we have way too many plates). 

“Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.”

Maya Angelou

Despite better knowing and the advice of my therapist, I didn’t feel my feelings. I haven’t allowed myself any anger towards my husband, despite having all the reasons to be angry. As soon as the teeniest spark of anger shows itself, I am overcome with a tidal wave of self-loathing and guilt. It is (of course) a childhood thing. I have never learned to express anger, all for the fear of being abandoned. The irony isn’t lost on me. 

Clearly, unrestrained anger will get you into a lot of trouble and potentially cost you your best China. But channelling your anger without acting out on it holds the possibility to transform your rage into a stand you take for your right to be heard, to be loved a certain way and for your self-value. How? My medium of choice is a pot of black paint and a canvas. So, if you should come across a crazy person in her yard, yelling profanities behind an easel while making a Pollock-esque mess on her lawn, please say hi. I am just feeling my feelings. 

Photo by jean wimmerlin

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