12 Feb When we suppress our anger–musings on niceness
I’m following some writing prompts on IG and choosing words to see what unfolds. And wow, it’s powerful and I’m thinking and really leaning into what comes out. I thought I’d share my pretty rough scribblings here, because maybe some of you also need to look at how you show up. To look at the ways we suppress our voices–our real wants and needs. And our anger, all in the cause of being a Nice person.
Yesterday was about anger. Today it’s about nice.
Nice—that’s a whole mood. Nice keeps me from allowing my true feelings out. Curbs my actions, and voice, with men. Keeps me stuck—or keeps me from being rude—because rude is not nice.
“That would be nice” is part of my vocabulary. That’s me not being fully authentic or enthusiastic. Modulated. Proper.
Nice plays it safe. Stays neutral. Nice tried not to offend. Nice is the self-imposed barrier that keeps me agreeable. Likeable. Less likely to offend. Nice is a people-pleasure.
Nice doesn’t argue or say FUCK OFF.
The question isn’t what I previously sacrificed in my nice-ness. The question is what will I feel like now—what can I embrace if I quit shrinking myself into niceness? What can I let out?
Embracing the Yes and the No. Being ok with actions of others who aren’t prepared for me to stop being complaint all the time.
She’s such a nice girl.
Nice guarantees me passage—not sure where or what or how. But, nice is easier to stomach, not a feather ruffler.
“Please don’t say anything at dinner to upset your brothers.” In other words, be nice. Silence yourself. For men.
This is an eruption. A disruption. Rip off the nice mask to reveal the tend skin underneath. Tender?
Maybe it’s rough, tough, impenetrable?
I envision a tiny battle. Ms Nice versus Ms. Let It All Out. Ms Nice is the tense one, the walled off one, the don’t muss my hair one (not that I’ve ever worried about my hairdo)
Let it all out me is sparkly and I dare you and I don’t give a fuck—regal, Goddess, confident. Unstoppable.
How to start? Acknowledging I sometimes do a thing too aggressively—a learning curve as I find greater ease in expressing the long-tamped down me. In finding the voice that was shut down for too long.
A man once said to me, “You’re being harsh. I love you anyway.”
False starts, harsh words, fumbling with the awkwardness of showing up uncloaked. In niceness.