Recently, one of my students told me I smile a lot. This was part of his response to an allegation of plagiarism against him; I’m not really sure how the two were linked. Maybe he was implying that, because I smile so much, he thought I was a “chill” teacher and wouldn’t respond as aggressively as I did when I noticed the words on his essay weren’t his own. Honestly, I don’t know what he meant. But his statement reminded me of a simple truth - I DO smile a lot. I smile when I’m happy. I smile when I’m sad. I smile when I’m angry. I smile when I’m confused. I smile when the world around me is burning, because I don’t know what else to do.
I used to think smiling was my super power. Turns out, it’s merely a conditioned response, a coping mechanism for my trauma.
Growing up in a family full of deeply ingrained South Asian patriarchy, I was taught what it meant to behave like a lady. Never raise your voice; never let your emotions get the best of you; never reveal the cracks in your facade; always smile, even when there’s nothing to smile about. Seduce with your eyes and voice; rebel with your body. Others always come first, no exceptions. Spread as much pleasure as possible, take on as much pain as you can bear…and baby, you can bear it all. Mary Poppins and Florence Nightingale the shit out of yourself. And never, EVER be angry. Because it’s fucking unbecoming.
But now, I AM un-becoming, unraveling from the sheer weight of my anger. Anger that has been brewing for decades, simmering stealthily just beneath the surface, unbeknownst even to me. Anger at a mother who was too absorbed in her own misery to pay attention to mine. Whose response, when I told her I’d been sexually abused, was laughter. Anger at a father, who always took her side. Who, despite his empathy towards everyone else, couldn’t understand MY pain. Anger at older siblings who always hogged the spotlight, making me feel like the insignificant baby of the family. Anger at a universe that kept moving me from continent to continent like a tennis ball being volleyed back and forth across the globe. Anger at an insecure boyfriend who couldn’t stomach my having other friends that were boys. Anger at a family where I always felt voiceless and unheard, and so, out of spite, stopped engaging in one of the few great joys of my life - singing. Anger at a husband who thought it was okay to be Dr Jekyll one day, and Mr Hyde the next, with no recollection of it later. Anger at an ex who thinks it’s okay to withhold child support, because he believes I ruined HIS life by leaving, never mind how that’s completely unrelated to his responsibility as a father. Anger at a world where artists roam the streets poor and homeless, while wealthy crooks are allowed to run the country; schools and jobs feel like prisons and labor camps instead of playgrounds for mental gymnastics and creative curiosity; and being a woman always, ALWAYS, counts against you (oh, except when it comes to getting priority while lining up at the bank or airport or anywhere in a Muslim country, as my colleague will snidely remind me; as if THAT makes all the pain worth it).
Am I angry?
Hell yes, I am!
But I’m also a mirror. A reflection of what so many of us are currently experiencing, this rising collective consciousness of global and individual injustice, and desire to finally step into our personal power. Till now, many of us have felt unable to express our anger - not just women, but men, too. We are severely disconnected from our true feelings, and rush to cover it all up with a smile. If our inner worlds are indeed a reflection of our outer world, then the growing split between our high and mighty Heads and our weak and enslaved Hearts, is indicative of the growing polarities world over, and our inability to express righteous rage, while simultaneously trying to repress our Inner Child, as we witness the world’s children burning before us.
We have all been dormant volcanoes, suddenly triggered into activity, and at risk of imminent eruption. That is perhaps how it must be because no amount of anger was meant to be carried for this long - generations upon generations of silenced and oppressed women, slaves, the indigenous, the poverty-stricken, the diseased, children. When the powerful of this world think they can rape and pillage the global village in broad daylight without consequence, they are tempting fate, luring the Ghosts of Powerlessness - past, present, and future - out of their slumber and straight into a haunting of universal proportions.
Haven’t you noticed? Haven’t you noticed how all the bullies in your life, all the narcissists, thieves, and “holy” men, are becoming more brazen and transparent by the day, unmasking their true faces? It feels like cancerous tumors are erupting all over our Body, and though it’s a relief to finally know what’s been ailing us for so long, there is still so much toxicity that needs to be released and so much healing to be done.
Where was all this anger before, I wonder? On a personal level, I know. It was always there, but being channeled in the opposite direction. I have been angry with myself for so long. Some of that anger has been warranted; the rest of it, indulgent masochism, like believing I wasn’t worthy of love, respect, and recognition, wasn’t worthy of the space I took up in this world, this monster of a body posing as a person of substance. They say the energy we exude into the world draws others with similar energies towards us. Well then, it doesn’t take a genius to see how Jekyll and Hyde was made for me.
Do I still believe I’m unworthy? Do I punish myself for existing? Lash out in anger for all my many mistakes?
No. Not really. Well, sometimes. Quite often, actually. I’m a work in progress.
Who motivated me to break my limiting beliefs, transcend my anger and grief, and begin deep healing from within?
It was my son.
First, before he was even born, when I was 20 - just the thought of the child I’d one day have spurred me to take action towards healing, start therapy and “tackle” my depression.
Then at 30, he arrived. I saw the most beautiful parts of my heart embodied in another, this weak and helpless creature, looking up at me adoringly, waiting for me to share all the love, safety, and wisdom I possessed. All the things passed down to me from generations of my ancestors. But among all those wonderful things also lay something troubling - Trauma.
At 40, I knew enough to know, I had to leave my marriage. And despite all the resistance from near and far, all the, “You guys can work this out,” and, “Think of your son,” all I knew was, I WAS thinking of my son. I wanted to be the truest and best version of myself FOR him, to teach him to never bow down to bullying, to know that he had a mother worthy of being loved, of being chosen to take care of him, and that, beyond all compare, he was so deeply and unconditionally loved.
Through the experiences of motherhood and divorce, I somehow learned to shift my perspective from one of lack to abundance. Now I bask in the nourishing energy of the gratitude I feel, all the wonderment and love I experience from life’s great and simple pleasures. I am angry, for sure, but I choose to no longer allow that anger to poison me. What I want, instead, is for that anger to spark me.
Today, I still carry heavy pain and trauma, but not an ounce of regret. On a healing journey with the inner child I’ve neglected for so long, and the real child whose suffering is torturous to witness, I watch the world burn around me, our long-simmering anger boiling us alive. I am done smiling to please everybody else. I am done pretending like everything’s okay, when it’s not.
Weren’t we taught to stand up to bullies? Weren’t we taught to protect the weak? Care for children? Promote peace? Who ARE we, if we do not stand for Love? WHAT are we?
We are complicit, that’s what. As silent bystanders, we are no better than the bullies; in some ways, we’re worse. Because we don’t stand for anything.
If there’s one thing you take away from this essay, let it be this: Lead with your heart now. Allow your anger to erupt through the vehicle of your voice, not violence. SCREAM BLOODY MURDER when that is what you see happening around you. Think of the young Israeli teens, members of the IDF. Just yesterday, they were children. What were they taught that led them to shut their hearts off so completely? Think of the Palestinian children who will survive this genocide. What have they already learned from this inhumane world? How will this shape who they become?
Here’s another thing you can start to do today: Turn inwards. Focus on your own healing. Nurture your inner child. Soften and strengthen your heart. If our inner worlds are indeed a reflection of our outer world, then doing the inner work within ourselves will not only have a ripple effect, it will have a reflective one, too. “Self awareness” and “personal growth” are no longer just trends, added sections in bookstores, and endeavors for the privileged few. They have now become a moral imperative.
Be the change - that just took on a whole new meaning.
You are an INCREDIBLE writer. Beautifully conveyed. Just beautiful!
I felt your anger and I loved it! Thank you for your honesty and vulnerability. It's so important to get angry. Coming from a (half) southeast asian household I knew exactly what you meant about how women are "supposed" to behave. I also had a lot of bottled up anger that I felt wrong for having in the first place and only as I became an adult found that there is a healthy relationship to anger. collectively we need to feel our anger and process and heal or else that anger continues to destroy