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Why Every Broken Woman Should Befriend Their Anger Instead Of Being Ashamed Of It
The absence of anger is not growth, or healing, or moving on. It is complacency. It is fear. It is stupidity.
The reason why I felt stuck was because deep down inside I knew that I was pressuring myself to move on in ways that didn’t feel right to me. Sure, rushing myself looked right. But it didn’t feel right. And frankly, I don’t owe anyone a life that looks or feels right to them but not to me. I don’t owe anyone a timeline that makes them feel better about being stuck in whatever muck they have thrown glitter on.
This is my life, and there is no right or wrong. I don’t owe anyone a goddamn thing: not my parents, my brother, the angels, demons, ancestors, nobody. I don’t have to rush anything, because the unraveling of my masterpiece known as my life is meant to take time. I don’t have all of the answers yet. Those answers take time to reveal themselves to me. They take an immense amount of patience. And they require me to show myself grace, despite everyone demanding me to show them something, anything that proves to them that I am okay.
Thankfully I can now accept that I have nothing to prove. I am okay. Because I decided that I am. Actually, I can cry myself to sleep for the remainder of this year and still decide that I am okay; that’s the power…
