Several years ago, while standing on a platform at Metrotech station in Brooklyn and waiting for the F train to arrive, I had a full-on rage blowup. I was standing with a friend whose back was to the staircase leading down to the platform. At the corner of my eye, I noticed two men walking down the staircase, look in our direction, and smile. I was continuing my conversation with my friend while keeping an eye on one of the men who began to move closer to where we were standing. Something about the way he was smiling and looking down the back of my friend’s body made my skin tingle with angst. Suddenly, she jumped and as she began to turn around to face the man, I knew exactly what had happened. A complete stranger walked up to my friend and touched her inappropriately while the smile on his face never left him. He wanted what he saw, went and got it, and felt pleased about it.

As my brain was registering what had happened (split seconds), the tingling on my skin turned to intense heat which my body could not contain. I lunged at the man with my hand extended and my finger in his face. I was foaming at the mouth yelling obscenities at him and making it clear that my friend’s body was not his to touch. His surprise was evident as he began to step backward away from my finger in his face and my rage. There was a brief moment when I heard my own voice and felt shocked hearing the sounds of shrieks coming out of my mouth. There was no containing my rage. I was ready to strike him, get into a fight with no care for my heels nor my business attire (not to mention my safety). Nothing mattered at that moment other than a profound desire to protect my friend. I remember seeing his frightened face and complete shock. He did not expect a reaction. The rage I felt that day was not only for my friend, it was a rage that had long been suppressed in my body of my own crossed boundaries. There was no more room to take in the assaults on me, on the women I knew and didn’t know, on our bodies, and our psyches. It had to spill over and so I let it flow. Eventually, once the release was finished, I walked away. As if perfectly timed, our train pulled up, we got on and were zipped away to safety.

While I would not advise lunging with anger at strange men even if they deserve it (after all this encounter could have ended in many different ways for me), this was the first time I was proud of my anger, which also made me wonder about the “why.” To be clear, I don’t generally unleash my anger at strangers or loved ones, but I have had few angry outbursts in my life. I remember those outbursts because they were generally followed by the feeling of shame. Shame that “I couldn’t control my feelings,” shame that “I couldn’t remain composed,” and general shame that my display of anger somehow made me an unhinged person. 

Anger has been dubbed as a “bad emotion” and for women in particular, in accordance with social norms, it’s certainly considered unacceptable. Let’s make something clear, IT IS NOT! It’s just an emotion. And, as Karla McLaren beautifully explains in her book The Language of Emotions, “anger can be the most honorable emotion you have.” Anger is about setting and restoring boundaries, honor, and protection. But how it is channeled matters. The questions to ask when feeling angry according to McLaren are - What do I value? What must be protected and restored? A strange man walking up to a woman and touching her without her permission is a major crossing of a boundary and anger is required. A woman was assaulted and I felt the need to protect her and help her restore her dignity at that moment. 

My response wasn’t ideal and there is work for me to do in channeling my anger more effectively. But I also refuse to shame myself about it or feel any level of regret. I’ve decided to embrace anger and keep working with it because it is necessary for me if I am to learn how to prioritize my needs, my time, and social justice. I and my anger are simply a work in progress and I’m ok with that. 

By Sylwia Gargala Qasim, Cofounder