Rage against the machine

As I previously mentioned, sometimes the universe gives you what you need, far from what you want.

This week, it came in an epiphany regarding a socially perceived "dirty" state of being that I, and it would appear other female peers, often internalize: rage. Acknowledgement of this has slowly been building for a long time but it came to a hilt this weekend.

Let's back pedal a little, shall we?

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of attending a self-defense workshop at Chungs Martial Arts Academy in Markham, knocking off #57 on my list. It was truly an empowering experience. It covered the basic mental and physical preparation of how to avoid and react in an emergency situation. We learned how to break free of holds, how to dodge knives, and how to get our ass of the ground to stop a bad situation from getting even worse. To me, the most interesting thing about yesterday's course was wrapping my head around the psychology of self-defense. A lot of it has to do with deceiving your would-be attacker; letting them think they have control of the situation by playing into being a victim, until a surprise move throws off their intention. Looking confident with an everyday object in your hand, giving off the appearance that you're capable of using it as a deadly weapon. Striking first, feeling remorseful later. Always fighting, because you're only a victim when you think you are.

It wasn't pretty. The instructor showed us moves that would help us survive the most graphic of situations. They're moves I hope I never have to use but understand that as a female its a necessity to learn them.

Every muscle was worked. It was just what I needed. I'm reeling from a week of feeling both emotionally volatile and drained in my personal and professional life. I needed something that would teach me to mentally toughen up and boy did I get it in waves from this course.

Most girls partnered up with other girls but I was lucky enough to partner up with a guy (Hi Al!), so I got a chance to practice resisting against a masculine strength. But as adrenaline kicked in with practicing each move, I felt something emotional bubble up to my core: Anger. A lot of it.

I wasn't entirely surprised. On the drive to Markham,a girlfriend and I had a long conversation about the often confusing emotional meltdowns we experience. I came to the conclusion that I internalize a lot of anger because its usually not socially acceptable to be, well, angry. I usually choke back whatever upsets me and avoid confrontation, knowing that there's a risk it might escalate and someone will walk away (emotionally) hurt. Because of this, its usually a collection of minor things rather than just one main event that causes me to crumble. And God forbid I rage instead of crumble. Because then we are hormonal, then we are bitches, then we are stereotypes and stories to be swapped about.

But what could it be that makes me so angry? Particularly after waxing philosophical about things I like about myself? My paycheck, the cold, my weight, my loneliness? I'm not entirely sure. All I can do is acknowledge that I often don't express my outrage in fear someone will pat me on the head and tell me to go make them a sandwich. And as these realizations were rising to the surface with each jab and kick, they were coupled by the anger that I had to learn to fight to survive in these terrifying situations. Simply because of my gender.

Now, I'm not going to go start an all-female Fight Club to channel and expel my anger. It's not as if anger is the sole emotion the drives me, but I think its an emotion that women rarely talk openly about in fear of how they'll be perceived. Even in typing this, I get this sudden panic that people will think I have anger issues that will lead to kicking strangers in the face and vandalizing museums. But that's not for me.

It's just there. I need to not deny it when it becomes prevalent. I need to find tools to learn to cope with it and even learn to embrace it without fear.

I am woman. Hear me roar.

Also, watch me throw Al over my shoulder.

<3,

m