I anticipated every symptom and side-effect of menopause. Except anger. Up to this point in my life, I managed to (mostly) avoid expressing anger. Especially with men. Menopause changed that.
The misogynistic micro-aggressions that I had tolerated for the past fifty years suddenly became intolerable. I was no longer okay with being referred to as a girl. I protested when men told crude jokes in my presence. Once niceness ceased to be a priority, I discovered the many benefits of anger. My husband has always appreciated how it gives him a laser-like focus. I now understand this phenomenon.
That said, acknowledging anger and stewarding anger are two very different things. Part of why I chose to ignore or deny anger for the first half of my life was that I lacked models. My family of origin systematically shut it down or relied on sarcasm as a means of telegraphing their feelings. I could tell when my parents were at odds by how low the relational temperature dropped. They seemed to prefer icy silence over heated arguments. Perhaps they made this choice to protect me and my sisters. Perhaps their parents never modeled how to have healthy conflict.
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Cover photo Mark Timberlake, Unsplash