Little Warrior

Anger Has Found Me (Content warning: sexual abuse, trauma, anger)

Last night I was watching a show, and a man was wearing a shirt that reminded me of his. Not the whole shirt—just the cuff hanging open at the wrist with the pearl snaps undone. That tiny detail pulled me straight back to the hand that reached for me when I heard, “come here and love daddy.” It wasn’t a plea for love. It was a command. And I obeyed because I was a child.

Usually when these flashes come up, I feel nothing—just numbness. But today was different. It started with disgust, not toward myself, but toward him. A heavy, dirty feeling. And then the disgust shifted into anger.

I still can’t see his face, but for the first time I can picture the hair on his head. I don’t know if it’s an actual memory or something my mind is filling in, but it’s there—long, curly, light brown. And then my imagination took over: grabbing that hair, dragging him out of the chair where he sat me in his lap, pulling him across the room the way he used to drag me, throwing him out the front door, slamming it shut, and locking it.

I don’t know why this anger feels so… right. But it does and part of me wants to hold on to it. I thought I just wanted peace, but maybe this is part of finding it. 

To anyone reading this who has felt powerless or trapped by their memories: it’s okay to feel anger. It doesn’t make you unsafe or “bad.” Sometimes anger is a sign that your inner self is finally reclaiming space that was taken from you.