People Were More Comfortable With My Suffering When I Carried It Quietly

And not the pretty kind.

Not the carefully processed, therapeutically approved anger that has always been converted into a lesson, wrapped in a bow, and made comfortable enough for everyone else to consume.

I wanna talk about the kind of anger that changes the way people look at a woman.

Because people were remarkably comfortable with my pain when I delivered it softly, apologetically, and with enough self-awareness to make sure nobody else felt blamed.

And then eventually I would get angry, and suddenly the conversation changed.

You see, my pain had been acceptable when it was quiet.

It had been acceptable when I explained it gently, when I added disclaimers, when I said, "I understand everyone is doing the best that they can.

I know I played a part.

I'm not trying to blame anyone." See, it was okay when I made sure that the person who hurt me did not feel too uncomfortable hearing about the fact that they had hurt me.

I was the version of suffering that was socially acceptable, until I wasn't.

Because that, being socially acceptable, didn't require anything from anyone.

It didn't interrupt access, it didn't demand accountability, and it did not change the terms of the relationship.

It allowed everyone to remain exactly where they were while I carried the emotional consequences of what had happened, and nothing happened to them.

I carried it quietly.

I carried it beautifully, and gracefully if possible.

Preferably with some positive, inspirational language attached.

But you know what the truth is? Anger doesn't always arrive beautifully.

Sometimes it arrives years after being reasonable, or after you've explained the same boundary 12 different ways, or after being misunderstood, minimized, dismissed, betrayed, interrupted, talked over, used, manipulated, or expected to absorb one more thing because you have always been the person who could handle and endure it.