i’m so tired of being the “angry one.”
like, genuinely tired.
and the funny thing is, i’m not even angry most of the time. annoyed? absolutely. irritated? sure. but angry? not nearly as often as people seem to think.
i’ve been called angry for as long as i can remember. angry, crabby, always having an attitude. you name it. and i’m not going to sit here and pretend there weren’t times when that description was kinda accurate. especially when i was younger. i had my moments like any child. plenty of them.
but i was also a kid.
and sometimes i wonder how many of those moments were actually anger vs. how many were just a little girl who didn’t know how to explain what she was feeling. or who didn’t feel heard when she really tried.
because we have grown adults walking around who can’t regulate their emotions, but somehow we expected a child to have it all figured out?
spare me.
but, ugh, no childhood dumping right now though. what’s really been bothering me lately, you guys, is how easily people decide you’re angry just because you’ve said something they don’t want to hear.
and i really need to understand why that is.
because here’s what gets me.
i can show up for you. i can support you, help you, celebrate you, be thoughtful, considerate, dependable. i can be the person you call when you need something done, when you need advice, when you need someone to figure something out.
and suddenly i’m the best thing since sliced bread. i’m the shit. i’m the mf goat.
but the second i say, “hey, something you did actually bothered me,” now we have a problem.
now i have an attitude all of a sudden?
now i’m angry?
now it’s “you know how she is”?
wait. what?
so you can recognize all these wonderful things about me when they’re benefiting you, but the moment i express a feeling that makes YOU uncomfortable, all of that goes out the window?
and somehow the conversation isn’t even about what happened anymore.
it’s about me.
my tone. my attitude. my reaction. how i said something. why i said it. whether i should’ve said it at all.
and then whatever i was trying to communicate about it is gone. we lost the plot.
i think that’s the part that frustrates me the most. because calling someone angry can be a really convenient way to avoid having to sit with what they’re actually saying.
and listen, i’m not saying delivery doesn’t matter. it does. i’ve had to learn that myself. i’ve spent years in therapy, learning how to communicate better, how to regulate my emotions, how to recognize when my own reactions weren’t helping a situation.
i’m still learning.
but at what point does someone else’s discomfort stop being my responsibility to manage?
because i swear, the amount of mental gymnastics i do before having certain conversations is ridiculous.
i’ll write a text. read it. reread it. change a word. take something out. add a little reassurance so the person knows i’m not attacking them. read it again. add emojis to soften the tone and everything.
then i start thinking about how they’re going to interpret it.
is that too direct? should i soften that? should i explain myself a little more? maybe i should say it differently.
and before i know it, i’ve spent more time worrying about how someone is going to receive my feelings than actually allowing myself to have them.
and that’s the part people don’t see. the amount of energy that goes into a conversation before i’ve even had it. how something as simple as expressing that my feelings were hurt can become this entire process of preparing myself for somebody else’s reaction.
it’s exhausting. genuinely.
because why am i rehearsing how to tell another grown person that something hurt my feelings?
why does a simple conversation require this much preparation?
and what’s even more frustrating is that people don’t always extend that same consideration to me.
someone can easily tell me i’ve hurt them. they can explain what i said, what i did, how it made them feel. and even if i don’t necessarily agree with everything they’re saying, i can still listen. i can acknowledge their feelings. i can apologize when i’ve gotten something wrong.
i’m not perfect at it, but i try.
so why does that suddenly become so difficult when the roles are reversed?
why can we have a whole conversation about the ways i’ve hurt you, but the minute i mention something you’ve done, now i’m being confrontational?
i’m not trying to fight with you.
i’m literally telling you something bothered me.
that’s it.
we can talk about it. maybe you didn’t realize. maybe i misunderstood something. maybe we both have a point. maybe we apologize, maybe we agree to disagree, and then we move on with our lives.
why does it have to become this whole thing?
and i think what makes it especially exhausting is that this happens everywhere.
family. friendships. work.
ugh, don’t even get me started on being a Black woman in corporate spaces, where sometimes all it takes is speaking up for yourself to suddenly be perceived as aggressive.
but that’s another conversation.
or maybe it’s the same conversation, just at a different time.
because either way, it feels like i’m constantly being asked to make myself easier for other people to receive.
and lately, i’ve been noticing just how much of that follows me into motherhood.
there have been moments when i’ve needed to communicate a boundary that my husband and i have established for our son.
nothing outrageous. just decisions we’ve made as his parents.
and i’ll catch myself thinking about how to word it so nobody gets offended.
how do i say this without making it a big deal? how do i make sure they don’t take it personally? how do i communicate something that should be relatively straightforward without somebody deciding i’m being difficult?
sometimes i actually have to stop myself.
because what the hell am i doing?
i’m sitting here trying to figure out how to protect a grown person’s feelings while communicating something that’s meant to protect my child.
go ahead. read that sentence again.
and it’s not even that i don’t care about people’s feelings. i do. probably more than i should sometimes.
and i promise i’m not interested in being unnecessarily rude or disrespectful. i don’t think becoming a mother suddenly gives me permission to speak to people however i want.
but i also don’t think i should have to negotiate my boundaries around someone else’s willingness to accept them.
especially when it comes to my son.
and maybe that’s why i’ve become more comfortable with distance.
not because i’m angry. not because i’m sitting around holding grudges or waiting for somebody to come apologize to me.
sometimes i’m just tired.
tired of trying to explain something to someone who has already decided how they’re going to receive it. tired of conversations that go in circles. tired of feeling like i need to come prepared with evidence, examples, and a perfectly rehearsed delivery just to explain why something hurt me.
and eventually, i start wondering whether maintaining certain relationships is worth how much of myself i have to keep pouring into them.
because distance isn’t always about punishment. sometimes it’s just the only way you know how to stop participating in a dynamic that’s draining you.
and i don’t even think people always realize that. they see you pulling back, not reaching out as much, choosing not to engage, and assume you’re upset.
there she goes being angry again.
when really, you might just be at peace with not having the same conversation for the fifteenth time.
and that doesn’t mean the distance doesn’t come with its own sadness. i’ve had friendships where i genuinely believe things could’ve been different if we had just been able to have an uncomfortable conversation. family relationships, too.
that’s the part that sucks. knowing that some of those relationships didn’t necessarily have to end or change the way they did.
but you also can’t keep having a conversation by yourself.
not every disagreement needs to become a falling-out. not every hurt feeling needs to become a character assessment. sometimes somebody just needs to say, “i hear you. my bad.”
and sometimes you need to be willing to hear something about yourself that you don’t particularly like.
i know that’s not always easy. i’ve been on the receiving end of those conversations, too.
but isn’t that part of having relationships with other people?
being willing to hear them, even when what they’re saying makes you uncomfortable?
i don’t know.
i guess what i’m realizing is that i’m not interested in spending the rest of my life trying to convince people that having feelings doesn’t make me an angry person.
and i’m definitely not interested in having to prove that i’m worthy of being heard every time something bothers me.
i’ve done a lot of work on myself. and i know there’s still work to do.
but sometimes i wonder if the issue was ever entirely about my anger in the first place.
because what’s really confusing to me is how quickly people seem to forget everything they know about you the moment you finally build up the courage to tell them something they don’t want to hear.
all the times you’ve shown up. the ways you’ve loved them. supported them. considered their feelings. the kind of person you’ve consistently tried to be.
suddenly none of that seems to matter.
it’s almost like there’s this selective memory loss that happens the second you make somebody uncomfortable.
and i don’t understand that.
how do you go from knowing me, loving me, appreciating me, to reducing me to an attitude the moment i have something to say about how you’ve treated me?
the same person who was there for you yesterday is the person standing in front of you today, trying to tell you something hurt.
and maybe that’s what makes this whole thing so depleting. because it’s not just about having to explain your feelings. it’s about having to remind people of your character while you’re doing it.
as if one uncomfortable conversation somehow cancels out everything else they know about you.
maybe that’s what i’m actually tired of.
not being misunderstood by people who don’t know me.
but being misunderstood by people who do.
or at least, people who i thought did.
but maybe that’s just me.
I love the rebellion of capital letters
I understand this too much. 🥹
I wrote about this in my book because I am also so tired of it. They don't want to see us get “angry”