Rage

Accountability solves a lot. Communication is truly key. This goes for friendships, relationships, family, and even work associates.

One of the most frustrating things to me are people who lack the ability to communicate. I over communicate and always have. Not because I love repeating myself, but because I’ve lived in too many spaces where silence turned into assumptions and assumptions turned into damage. I’d rather be clear than be misunderstood, even if it makes me “too much” for people who are comfortable staying vague.

I was discussing earlier with a friend how you can tell some people exactly what you need, what you mean, and how to get from point a to point b and they still act confused. And at some point you start questioning yourself… did I not say it right? Did I ask for too much? But deep down you know the truth. It’s not confusion. It’s avoidance. It’s people hearing you, but not wanting to meet you there.

Apologies can go a long long way. A real one. Not the kind wrapped in excuses or deflection, but the kind that lands softly and takes ownership. I’m sorry. I see it. I’ll do better. That kind of accountability can rebuild things that silence slowly erodes.

One of the things I have dealt with the most and truly grapple with on a daily basis is anger. I don’t get angry at my kids. I get angry at adults. At the ones who should know better. The ones who had the words but chose not to use them. The ones who had the chance to show up and didn’t.

I get angry about the past.

I get angry at situations.

I feel rage.

And it’s not quiet either. It’s the kind that hums under your skin, like a storm that never fully passes. The kind that shows up in moments that don’t even seem connected, but somehow are.

Then I wonder what amount of that rage is truly just grief, bubbling over the surface. The kind of grief that doesn’t go away and doesn’t come with closure. The kind that doesn’t get a neat ending or a final conversation. It just… lives there. In your body. In your reactions. In the way you brace yourself even when nothing is actively wrong.

Before the accident I thought I was handling it fine. I told myself I had moved on, that I had processed it, that I was strong enough to carry it without it leaking into everything else. But the truth about healing is that it doesn’t care what you think. It asks to be felt. Fully. Honestly. Over and over again if it has to.

Because if you don’t face it, it doesn’t disappear. It just changes form. It becomes tension. It becomes distance. It becomes anger that doesn’t make sense until you sit with it long enough to realize… it’s pain asking to be acknowledged.

And that’s the part no one really talks about. Healing isn’t this clean, linear thing where you check a box and move on. It’s messy. It’s repetitive. It’s waking up one day feeling light and the next feeling like you’re right back where you started.

But you’re not.

Because now you’re aware. Now you’re asking the questions. Now you’re catching the anger and tracing it back instead of letting it spill onto everything around you.

And maybe that’s what accountability looks like too. Not just with other people, but with yourself. Being honest about what you’re carrying. Being willing to sit with it. Being willing to say… this hurt me, and I’m still working through it.

Not perfect. Not finished. Just… aware.