My therapist asks me where I experience certain emotions in my body. Anxiety is in my neck and shoulders. Sadness twists my stomach. Stress sits on my chest.
I never thought about anger until today. I didn’t have an answer until after my post-therapy walk.
I hold anger in my eyes – piercing, scrutinizing. If looks could kill, I’d be a murderer several times over.
I hold anger in a clenched jaw, tight lips pressed firmly together, teeth literally biting my tongue into submission.
I hold anger in my throat – burning with the equal desire to choke me into permanent silence or release a never ending, agonizing scream.
I hold anger in my hands – clenched so tight that half moons are creased into my damp palms. Fists shaking, itching to make contact with a person, wall, or my own body.
I hold anger in locked knees and firmly planted feet that urge me to fight instead of flee. If I flee I prove my worthlessness. But if I fight, I prove my self inflation.
I am always ready to fight or run. I’m waiting. So, anger is always with me. Even when it isn’t at the front, anger is keeping me safe.