DAY 6 - Human Animal (21 DAYS OF RAGE)

This is the 6th instalment of a 21 day writing series about maternal rage and anger.

Cultures attach moral attributes to emotions. In ours, in broad term, happiness = successful, sadness = weak, anger = bad. When we consider anger, at the extreme end of the spectrum, rage and violence can be profoundly harmful and frightening. In knowing this innately, we have forgotten the nuance of the story. Experiencing ourselves as rageful is shocking because we did not know we had it in us, in the version of the tale where nice, calm people like us don’t lose control of our tempers.

But every single human has this experience, unless they have learnt to switch off their feelings (which we can probably agree is a terrible long term plan). It’s a sign of our aliveness, even one we find abhorrent. It’s scary to behold our own rage because in that moment, in the loss of control we fear we could have done something much worse. Maybe we wanted to. It would have felt good, a quick release of the pressure that was building. 

Generally inhabiting our evolved brain, we descend to something more basic. I have a hazy childhood memory of seeing a film which depicted an animal cornered, fearing for its life, shaking, forced to defend itself. Because I can’t remember the exact scene or even what animal it was, the creature has taken on compound characteristics, in my mind bucking, charging, shaking its head, clawing, growling, flapping wings in desperation. Trapped in a box, in a cage, in a dank room, facing danger this stalking fluttering trembling beast has to pounce or has to hide in pain.

In the periods when my anger has emerged in the most overwhelming way, my shame has been great and I have experienced myself as a terrible person, a terrible mother, as a failure. But when I look back at what was happening alongside these moments, I become much less predator and much more beleaguered, more lonely, hunted by something, not just my own shame. Those animals come to mind. A message is trying to get through and wings are flapping desperately looking for an out. But in that moment there isn’t an exit, there is not a friend close by.

Frightened animals need soothing, not a hard kick. They need someone to hold them in their arms. I wish I had been able to remember that then.