Three Strikes

Someone told me recently that I have two strikes against me when it comes to expressing anger. (1) I'm a woman. (2) I'm southern. I asked him what he meant by the southern strike. "There is no place for a woman to show anger in southern culture," he replied. "You forgot another strike," I said. "I'm 'Christian'". "Well, then," he informed me, "You're out."

I thought on these strikes for a few days, particularly the southern thing. Maybe he was right. Of course women show anger in the South, but I guess it is best kept behind closed doors. And there is always the hot-n-spicy firecracker girl who's cute and entertaining outbursts only endear people to her, but few can pull that off. What about when my anger isn't endearing or pretty but is dark and heavy?

A few days later I had another encounter in which I gave some critical feedback to someone in a group setting, and as a group we ended up examining the whole exchange between the other person and I, and what we were both feeling during that. Upon realizing that his countenance had fallen in response to my feedback, I blurted out in remorse, "I'm sorry I sabotaged your countenance!" I was then confronted as to why I feel villainous if I express an honest, non-malicious criticism. I knew immediately why: because I cannot think of a context in my world growing up in which I was given permission or safe space to be honest about my anger, which I had good reason for, and when I tried anyway, often the other person could not hold it and punished me for it in some fashion (like a D in conduct in 5th grade). My ventures in expressing anger were often rewarded with the labels of "contentious" and "argumentative". Translation: "bitchy". And what bitch gets loved? So I tried to cut that out I guess, with varying degrees of success, as anger seems to be one of those creatures that refuses to lose mass but merely changes shape when you try to squeeze it to death. Like a tick, or a water balloon.

The horror I'm feeling now is similiar to a mother realizing that she hasn't heard a noise from her 3 yr old in several minutes, and that the back door is ajar. Where did my anger go?? A more honest analogy would be that of a zookeeper realizing that the anaconda has escaped its cage and is unaccounted for...which more accurately portrays the untamableness and insidiousness I associate with anger.

Wherever my anger went, I am told that I'm in the right place to find it again. Which does not exactly feel like a happy Easter egg hunt.

Back to the group with the sabotaged countenance. It was again noted in that discussion that one context that does not allow much room for anger is that of the Great American South. A question I want to pose, then, particularly for anyone who has lived in the South, is do you see this as being true of southern culture, particularly for females? I'm also wondering how it varies among certain southern subcultures, especially ethnic subcultures.

And if you're feeling "disagreeable" in this matter, do you hesitate to voice your disagreement because you are, in fact, a southern female? : )