secondary emotions

how my body keeps the score

trauma is stored in the body. you’ve heard this, i’ve heard this. but where? i spent some time last year trying to figure out where mine lives. my digestion is fine—no IBS or allergies. no migraines. no insomnia. i thought i was one of the lucky ones. then i realized it wasn’t my gut or my head; it was my fists.

i was sitting on the couch one day, anxious about something, when i noticed my nails digging into my palms. my fists were clenched, like they always are, ready for a fight i didn’t even know i was preparing for. that’s when it hit me: my fists automatically recoil into themselves when i’m scared or nervous—or even when i’m completely at ease. along with my jaw, my sympathetic nervous system keeps me wound as tight as a spring and ready to strike. that’s where my trauma lives. my fists and my fangs, one clenched in preparation to swing, the other clenched to keep words from flying out. this is how my body manifests anger.

i’ve been angry forever. there were relationships in my life that taught me how to handle anger—sometimes by doing the opposite of what i saw. i knew things were intense growing up, but when i moved away to college and after, i promised myself i wouldn’t explode with emotions the way my family did. i’d never fight, never yell. i’d be the picture of calm and collection. i’d never speak to another person the way i was spoken to. but anger demands to be experienced. your body will consume you with every possible terror and emotion to get you to lash out. you’ll create monsters that aren’t real. you’ll suspect everyone is out to get you. you’ll manipulate to get what you want because you’re incapable of expressing your emotions healthily. even though i didn’t yell, didn’t scream, didn’t cuss, didn’t throw, the rage seeped out. when it has nowhere to go, it shows up inconveniently.

recently i’ve learned that human emotions aren’t all given the same weight. something like joy is considered a primary emotion: it’s instinctive, natural, functional. it guides our actions and keeps us connected to others. other emotions are more diffuse and difficult to adapt, often disguising the real, primary emotion. these emotions are learned, protective, defensive, and oftentimes they linger. this is where rage resides.

though it seems counterintuitive, rage is present almost always, but it’s kept under control. leashed rage looks like suspicion, envy, restlessness, even something as simple as annoyance. you can live with this rage under lock and key. you’ll wonder why jobs, arrangements, and entire relationships don’t work out, unable to thrive under your criticism and poorly-masked discontentment. when anger doesn’t have a proper outlet, it can morph into a need for control. and when life doesn’t work out that way—because it’s unpredictable, because people don’t like being controlled, and because you haven’t yet figured out that it’s a rage problem—its best friend will come in to do the heavy emotional labor: shame.

shame and i know each other really well, and while i’m more open to discussing my anger problem these days, i’m still grieving the years i spent living in shame. but if you’re in it, it’s trying to tell you something—you’re out of balance. you’re not living in accordance with your highest purpose, because if you were, shame wouldn’t be here. shame desperately tries to get us to quit our bad behaviors so we can break the cycle of anger, but if you don’t understand that that’s what shame is doing, then you just get stuck at the pity party with her. you will go through the mess again and again until you notice you’re supposed to pull yourself out.

i ignored my shame, aka my masked anger, for years because, duh, you’re supposed to ignore that shit. learning to understand shame as a signal for change has helped me grow. i’m grateful for the little glimmers that pulled me out—a chance reading with my astrologer who noted i have “a lot of mars in [my] chart” and that anger could be an issue, the tiktok creator Rachel McNassor for her service to humanity, and the endless love of a devoted and calming husband who has given me a safe space to process my anger problem. i’m “balls-deep,” to use a therapy term, in my journey of peeling back my angry onion, so i can’t fully tell you what’s on the other side, but i can tell you that getting through the fog requires a lot of curiosity. i’ve spent time exploring family stories, the kind you only hear when you ask the right questions. rebuilding connections with people i care about has been part of the process. i write long letters i never send. i exhale, i pause. i unclench my fists about 30 times a day, telling my body to relax.

but this can’t be an essay about anger without mentioning its silver bullet: the outlet. what is the outlet for my anger? i’ve had plenty of unhealthy ones: shopping, drinking, smoking. i try good ones like hiking and cooking. but without making this a written piece about writing, i will say that i’m doing one of my oldest outlets right now: writing. it helps me process, as evidenced by the years of childhood diaries i still have that are scribbled, full caps, with such timeless declarations as, “I HATE MY LIFE!!!!!” writing always soothed me and is something i hope to continue to work on so that i don’t have to take boxing lessons.

shame isn’t around as much anymore. i’ve come to accept that no one is perfect and we all do things, consciously or not, in the pursuit of survival. there is very little that i feel is worth spending a lifetime in shame. and being consumed by rage that manifests in a million petty transgressions is no way to live either. but i’ve also learned something else—anger isn’t all bad. a little rage in a woman is sexy. it’s passion, fire, self-respect. it’s knowing your value and refusing to shrink. it’s not about losing control; it’s about owning it.

as i’ve moved through the mess, i’m even able to see the ways in which my anger is a gift—i know my worth, i fight for what i believe in, and i don’t feel as confused by human behavior. my fists and fangs still clench sometimes, but now i recognize them for what they are: signals from my body, asking me to pause, listen, and act with intention. anger is now secondary - where it belongs.