Finding Your Beautiful Anger

Originally posted June 18 2022

When I was a little girl, I was reprimanded for expressing my anger.

“Nice girls” don’t yell like that. “Good girls” don’t talk back. “Nice girls” don’t rock the boat. “Good girls” do what they’re told. When I tried to stick up for myself, I was shamed, shunned, and shut down. The males in my life would smirk smugly on seeing me put in my place. Uppity little brat. Who does she think she is to speak like that?

God knows I wanted to be a good girl, so I did what was expected of me. I learned to shut up. I learned to suck it up. Swallowing my anger took it deep into my body, where it roiled and raged, expressing itself as violent eczema on my skin. Inside I seethed, even as a child. I was a boiling pot with a rattling lid. For years, I used vast amounts of personal power to keep that lid on.

Here’s the story of when it blew off.

The unleashing

After graduating from University with a degree in business emphasizing hospitality, I landed a sweet job as management trainee at the Ritz Carlton. I was on the fast track. I made it eight months before realizing I sucked at sucking up.

I quit and followed my heart.

Well, as fate would have it, I needed that hospitality degree eight years later. My wider family owned four hotels, and when the business was split, my mother and stepfather took over a 64-room hotel. I’d made it clear years before that I was following my own path and wasn’t coming back to run the hotel. I was in London and had just handed in my thesis. I’d busted my ass to meet the early deadline so that I could go home and relax for a week on the beach. Instead, when I arrived, Mom asked me to come to a board meeting. I thought it curious she’d asked me to attend. She explained that as my stepfather was off the island playing golf, she’d like me there. It was my first time attending. Before we started, everyone was pleasant and chatting, and I was fully relaxed.

The numbers were slid around the table. I expected to see black. Instead, I saw red at the bottom of our balance sheet column, meaning we were in the hole. The room was silent, watching me. I remember looking up and asking if this was a mistake. Throats were cleared, and papers were shuffled. No one said a word. And then I really saw red. I was livid. No one could explain how we were millions, yes millions, in debt. As I looked around the table, far older and more experienced adults, mostly men, squirmed and wouldn’t meet my eye. Clearly, this hadn’t happened overnight, and our advisors had let it go on until we were in desperate financial trouble. No one offered council.

The lid on my anger rattled, jumping from the rising steam. I bit my tongue.

There was more.

The day after the board meeting, Mom asked me to come with her to the hotel to speak with two men. She was vague when I asked who they were and what the meeting was about. As we were turning into the hotel, she told me they were from an accounting firm investigating fraudulent activity. I had no time to wrap my head around it. We made introductions. We waited. Finally, I suggested we begin. After all, I had a beach to lie on. Cue awkward silence. They asked where my stepfather was. Mom shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “He’s away playing golf,” she muttered. The two men looked at me with mild alarm.

The handsome one said, “We can’t do this without the hotel manager. This is a serious situation. Millions of dollars. I have to say I’m shocked he’s left the island.” Mom shrugged her shoulders, her eyes on the floor. I could see she was trying not to cry. Basically, she’d knew she’d been abandoned and she looked completely defeated. I felt a power surge - one of those lightning moments where life changes in a heartbeat. Sitting up in my chair, I said, “Until I can find a replacement, I am assuming the role of the hotel manager.” I looked at my mom for confirmation. She nodded, tears of gratitude forming in her eyes. I figured it wouldn’t be that long. It couldn’t be that bad.

The meeting proceeded, and I was quickly brought up to speed. It was assumed we were being swindled by our property manager, a massive beast of a man who swaggered around like he owned the place, intimidating anyone who questioned him. The suspicion was that he was charging items to the hotel, importing them to the island, and illegally selling the stuff out of the container. Nothing came through the hotel. Not only that, we were being double-charged for work conducted as we upgraded the property. Seems a plumber “forgot” to put a drain in the shower before it was tiled, meaning it had to be ripped out and redone. We paid twice. The fraud team had been able to uncover at least that much. They suspected there was far more theft hidden in the records but they needed permission to dig deeper.

Now, I know, I know, how is it possible this had gone on so long and no one said anything?

Well, my mom, who was ultimately the owner, had been shut down all her life, so she couldn’t stand up for herself. My stepfather habitually started drinking at lunch, so he wasn’t much use. My brother, who was running the Food and Beverage department, had been screaming fruitlessly about it for months. The Beast insisted that he be fired. My step-father agreed. Said he was a trouble-maker and distracting the staff. Mom almost did it. We’d spoken about it the week before and I told her to wait until I got there.

The Beast had my parents twisted around his meaty little finger. He was often at their home around happy hour because when I’d call, Mom would say (the Beast) was there with hotel business. They’d drink together and he’d have them sign checks, topping up their glasses and acting like their best friend.

After meeting with the fraud team, I called an emergency staff meeting. Here’s me, a 30-year-old woman with a degree but no management experience. My brother was next to me, aged 33. I looked out at the sea of faces and took a deep breath. I explained that until further notice, I was acting manager. I gave them a brief overview of the financial mess. I didn’t go into the fraud but I asked that they keep the hotel running while we worked it out, and that I was counting on them. There were instant rumblings. The sucking of teeth. Crossing of arms. Rolling of eyes. I watched the crowd for dissent to see who else might be involved in the theft. I suspected it was rife across the board. There must have been others taking advantage of the slack management. I didn’t know who I could trust and who wanted to stab us in the back. To say I was shaking in my boots would be a gross understatement. I was petrified.

Some of the staff approached me after the meeting and told me they knew bad stuff was happening, but the Beast had threatened their jobs. They hadn’t quit because they loved my mother. Instead, they stayed so they could protect her as much as possible. The loyalty of strangers made me cry. I had a small team I could count on.

Next, I had to face the Beast. Interestingly, he hadn’t been at the meeting.

I called him. I casually asked him to meet up with us, not wanting to tip him off. My mother, brother and I were waiting when he entered. My mom was nervous and frightened of him. He had subtlety been bullying her, patting her on the head, and taking advantage of her inability to be assertive. All the while, he loudly proclaimed to be her ‘pit-bull’ and that no one was going to mess with her so long as he was around. We all sat. He was buttering me up, telling me how good I looked, albeit a little pale. I remember being steely-eyed, my stomach in knots, but determined to cut this man off at the knees. I summoned my courage.

I told him we had fraud investigators working on our behalf, and it was all pointing at him. He defended himself, pleading for my mother’s acknowledgement. She sat stiffly in her chair, mouth clamped shut, her knuckles turning white from how hard she was gripping her hands. I sharply told him not to beg for her assistance. I was the hotel manager now, and he was fired. He was to give me all of his keys, collect his personal belongings, and leave.

He jumped up and started shouting, moving towards my mother, whose eyes had flown open in terror as she pushed back in her chair. I leapt from my seat and stood between them. His lips curled as he pulled back a fist. My brain registered his intention. I felt a boldness I’d never experienced before. Either that, or complete unadulterated idiocy. My heart thundering, I stepped closer and mocked him. “Oh yeah, big man, hit me. Hit me so I can call the police. Go on, fucking punch me in the mouth. Do it. Do it now.” My brother tried to step in front of me, but I shoved him aside. If the Beast was going to hit anyone, it was me. “Your keys,” I hissed coldly, narrowing my eyes at him. He dropped his fist and threw foul words at me along with his keys, violently slamming the door behind him.

Mom looked at us and started crying. “Well, that went well,” she said, trying to joke amongst her tears.

I walked the property and told every staff member that they were to immediately call the police if they saw him, as I’d taken out a restraining order. As I left the front desk I heard one woman say, “Now, I knew I liked that girl. She’s got fire.”

This fire, my power, was a new experience for me. It was terrifying but I was quickly learning to trust it and let it settle into my bones.

When my stepfather returned to the island, refreshed and ready to resume his lackadaisical managing, he was outraged at what had occurred while he was away. He’d been castrated and he was not happy at all. He kept trying to undermine me. I had to consistently remind him that when he left to play golf in the middle of a fraud investigation, he relinquished his right to manage the hotel.

It came to a head just before Easter Sunday. My brother had achieved an award-winning brunch that was incredibly popular. We were the best on the island, and everyone wanted to celebrate Easter at our place. On Good Friday, the phone rang in my Mother’s house. It was a friend of mine who had been charged with organizing a table for thirty people from his office for brunch, and he’d completely forgotten. He had called the hotel and they’d said they were full. He was desperately pulling the friend card. I said I’d see what I could do.

I called the restaurant manager and asked if he could fit them in. I explained they would drink, a lot, and we’d make good money. He asked if he could seat them later as all reservations were full. He’d had a lot of people calling and he’d turned them all away. He’d been told to not take reservations after 2 pm. I said, “That’s ridiculous! Pack them in. Why would you tell them no? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Check with the kitchen and the waitstaff. If they’re willing to work it, take as many bookings as possible. Serve until we run out of food.” I called my friend back. “They can seat you at 4 pm. I know it’s late, but you’re a huge party. Make sure you drink a shit-ton and tip your waitress well.” He was elated. I called the restaurant manager and told him to book the table for the late afternoon just as my stepfather stepped into the kitchen. I was excited. We were going to kill it at brunch.

When I hung up, he exploded. He shouted, “I expressly said no seatings after two o’clock. How dare you go against my orders! I forbid it!”

Seriously, he used those words.

Heh.

I felt an unfurling in my belly. I felt the warrior rising, and she was pissed. Slowly, I turned to him. The lid didn’t just come off the pot; it launched across the universe. My voice started as a growl and steadily grew from there. “How dare I? How dare I??? How dare YOU tell ME what to do when I’m having to clean up YOUR mess. How DARE YOU tell me to turn away business? We are going to take as many people as we can, work as hard as we can, and try to salvage this fucking disaster.” I was shouting by now. He was speechless. His face turned purple. Clearly, he expected me to submit, subdue, apologize, play pretty, and back down to his authority. I swear my teeth turn to fangs. I felt a dragon’s energy pulsing through my blood. Fire. Destruction. Burn it to the ground. Burn it all.

Mom tried to interject. She told me to calm down. I snarled at her, “You keep out of this.”

I jabbed a finger in his face. “YOU, who abandoned us. YOU who let that asshole manipulate you. YOU who’s destroyed a viable business in less than a year. YOU who’s mismanaged it and let this happen on your watch! YOU, who we trusted. YOU, who has completely and thoroughly fucked us! HOW DARE YOU!” I screamed the last words with an unholy shriek. I’m pretty sure I spat in his face.

I half-expected to be slapped. Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed off, sputtering about disrespectful fucking children, and to hell with all of us.

I took a deep breath, and apologized to my stunned mother for shutting her down. She waved me off and whispered quietly, “It was time it was said out loud. But you used a damned machete when a pocket knife would have done.”

I said, “Guess I’m moving out then.” She gave me a half-smile and went to find her husband.

After she left, I stood there shaking.

I claimed my anger. I set fire to the world. It was righteous. It was glorious.

That afternoon I moved into the tiny late check-out room at the hotel with a lumpy pullout couch for a bed. Although a real room was offered, I refused. If we could fill it with a paying guest, that’s what we’d do. I piled boxes of invoices almost to the ceiling as they were evidence, and I didn’t trust them left in the accounting office. I had the lock changed on the door and had the only key.

For two months, I managed the hotel, pled with utility companies and food vendors to give us payment plans, and at night read through invoices, highlighting obvious fraud purchases such as bicycles, televisions, computers, furniture, and more. None of it was on the property. I’d call my husband in the early hours of the night when it was dawn in London. We’d been married only seven months. He would ask me for the rundown and give me as much advice as he could from a distance. I would whisper to him that I was so scared. He’d tell me he believed in me.

The problem was that my mother and stepfather had signed the checks. They hadn’t looked at the purchase orders; they trusted that the Beast was honest and had their best interests at heart. The fraud investigators were despondent and said they couldn’t help us recover our losses. We had no case. We were on our own. Had my mother owned her power, it might have never happened. But, like me, she’d been taught to be a good girl and let the men handle it. We had been let down by those we blindly trusted to protect us.

Ultimately, in our complacency, we had failed ourselves.

Where is your anger?

We, as women, have reached a point where we must release our dragons and find our inner power. It is imperative that we dive within, and not wait wistfully for prince charming to rescue us on his beautiful white horse. He is not coming. He never was.

Throw the lid off your steaming, furious pot, and use that energy constructively. It’s time to stop pretending everything is okay. It’s not. The blinders are off, and we are the warriors we need.

Once you refuse to be a nice girl and release your dragon, you won’t be able to put her back in her cage. She is out, and she is no longer willing to play small and be silent. Let the flames lick you and bring you to life. Embrace it.

Now, it can be shocking as hell. You’re not used to feeling the power of your outrage. Don’t worry about how it comes out at first. You might go nuclear in the beginning like I did. Or you might feel something different. You may tremble from head to toe. Your voice may crack. You might cry from your anger because you don’t know how to express it properly. Just keep speaking up. You might feel like you’re going to vomit. In fact, you just might. This is the anger you’ve swallowed all your life, and it can be a visceral experience when you let it out. This is the nice girl, the good girl, the polite, societally-correct girl, who has planted her feet firmly and finally screamed,

ENOUGH.

Enough of letting others talk over you, shut you up, and shut you down. Enough of shrinking yourself, holding your tongue, and keeping the peace at all costs.

Enough of kneeling before the old, white king. Enough of his tyranny. Enough.

Stop letting people tell you what to do with your life, with your body, with your choices. Stop holding back your outrage. It is viable, it is truth.

Your inner dragon is your staunchest supporter. She is the voice given to you at birth that’s been collectively silenced by those intent on keeping us tame.

Yes, this will damage some relationships, potentially beyond repair. But they aren’t the ones you want to keep. They are not worthy of you. If someone invests in keeping you small, they do not belong in your life. Not for one second longer.

If you are in a frightening situation, get out. Find a way to leave, even in the dark of night. Strangers will protect you like they protected my mother. Now more than ever, you will find safety. Even if you’re scared, trust your inner power, and act.

*

Women, we are rising.

It is time to stop being a good little girl.

Nice girls are doormats.

Good girls are selfishly used and thrown away.

Nice girls finish last.

And no one gives a damn.

I will be right here next to you.

My dragon and I - we see you.