Waking Up in the Life You Haven’t Escaped
There’s a kind of despair that doesn’t scream. It doesn’t throw plates or slam doors. It settles in slowly, tightening around you until you can’t remember what hope felt like. It’s the kind of sadness that comes when you wake up and realize you’re still in a place you don’t want to be, still in a body that hurts, a life that feels like it was dropped on you instead of chosen by you.
I felt that despair in a burn rehab unit. I don’t know how long I had been there at that point. It was long enough that the initial shock had worn off, and the pain had faded into something quieter but heavier. I had started physical therapy. I could move. I could sit up. I could walk a little. But everything about me was tired.
My room had a wallpaper border near the ceiling, soft ocean tones, gray-blue seashells wrapping around the top edge like a beach I couldn’t escape. I’m sure it was meant to be calming. But to me, it was a cruel reminder. That wallpaper was the first thing I saw every morning, and with every glance, it reminded me: You are still here. You are still in this room. You are still in this body. You are still in this life that you didn’t choose.
One morning, I had a dream that I was home. It wasn’t just comforting, it was convincing. I believed, with every fiber of my being, that what I had gone through was just a dream. In that moment, I thought I was waking up in my own bed, in the comfort of my real life. I could hear my boyfriend and his friends laughing in the living room. Everything felt normal, familiar, safe. Everything was exactly the way it had been before the accident. When I opened my eyes, I was still smiling.
Then I saw the wallpaper.
I broke.
I started crying because I thought things had changed. I thought maybe the pain had passed. I thought maybe the storm had lifted. But no. I was still in that damn room. Still wearing someone else’s hospital gown. Still trying to piece together how I had gone from a normal life, a boyfriend, a career, a social life, to being trapped in a bed, unable to care for myself, covered in third-degree burns because of someone else’s mistake.
This wasn’t grief. This was desperation. It was the feeling of hitting the bottom and realizing that there is no clear ladder out. There’s only you, and the choice to keep climbing, even if your legs are shaking.
People ask me all the time: How did you do it? How did you survive that? Where did the strength come from?
I tell them: I had a picture in my mind. I knew what I wanted life to feel like. I couldn’t always see how to get there, but I could feel the shape of it: the safety, the warmth, the freedom. I wasn’t willing to let go of that picture. Even when it hurt. Even when it felt like it would never come.
It took years. Just over seventeen, to be exact: May 2008 to now, June 2025. From that seashell wallpaper to now. No, my life isn’t perfect however it is mine. It is built, not inherited. It is chosen, not assigned. I wake up now in a space that I love, doing work that lights me up, surrounded by people who don’t ask me to conform.
I still carry the scars. I always will. Some you can see and some you can’t. But I didn’t let that wallpaper define the rest of my life.
If you’re in a space right now that feels like a cage, if you’re waking up in a reality you didn’t choose, a pain you didn’t cause, I want you to know this:
You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to feel trapped. You’re allowed to feel it all.
But please don’t let this room become your forever. Don’t confuse the middle for the end.
You’re still becoming, even in this. Especially in this.
One day, the life you dreamed of, the one that kept you going, will be the one you wake up in. You will know exactly what it took to get there.
But before we talk about healing, we have to talk about what we do with the pain. Because despair can make us disappear. It can bury us in silence, in smallness, in self-blame. Or it can provoke something powerful. It can wake the rage that refuses to let this be the end.
That’s the invitation I want to make with the rest of this piece, not to break under the weight of despair, but to burn through it. To feel the frustration, the anger, the sorrow, and to ask: what now? What do I do with this? How do I use it?
Because if the despair didn’t kill your spirit, it lit something in you. That fire is yours to work with.
Your Anger Is Valid, Now Use It
But until then, let’s talk about what no one tells us: it is okay to be angry. It is okay to feel trapped. Especially for women, especially in a society that tells us to be grateful, to be graceful, to endure. We are taught to apologize for our sadness, to justify our rage, and to explain our exhaustion.
But anger is a signal. Sadness is a truth-teller.
Feeling stuck doesn’t make you broken. It means your spirit knows you were meant for more.
Those feelings are not weaknesses. They are wisdom. They are the soul’s way of saying, “Not this. Not anymore.”
What if we stopped hiding our frustration under a smile? What if we honored our sadness instead of rushing past it? What if we understood our anger not as a failure of character, but as a function of clarity?
The truth is: we don’t heal by pretending we’re okay. We heal by giving ourselves permission to be exactly where we are, messy, mad, aching, and choosing to love ourselves there anyway.
Your emotions are not the enemy. They are the map. And anger? Anger is not a detour. It’s a compass. According to research by Thomas, Smucker, and Droppleman (1998) in their phenomenological study It Hurts Most Around the Heart, women often describe their anger as a complex and confusing mixture of emotions, hurt, frustration, disillusionment, building over time and triggered by violations of their core values. These triggers often stem from unfair or disrespectful treatment, or a lack of reciprocity in relationships. The study found that when anger was kept inside, women felt helpless and powerless. When it exploded outward, it often brought shame or a sense of lost control. But when women used their anger consciously, to restore justice, to reclaim respect, to demand relationship reciprocity. They reported feeling a sense of true power. This is the kind of anger that clarifies instead of confuses, strengthens instead of silences, and leads us back to ourselves.
You do not have to explode to be powerful. You do not have to suppress to be good. Anger doesn’t have to be a loss of control. It can be a return to it.
So if you’re feeling rage at what was taken from you, what you’re still fighting through, or how long it’s taking to rebuild, honor it. Use it. Let it move you toward justice, toward wholeness, toward the life that reflects the truth of who you are.
Because every time you feel deeply, especially when it’s inconvenient, especially when it’s fierce, you are not regressing. You are reclaiming.
Reclaiming your anger doesn’t mean lashing out. It means choosing to channel it thoughtfully, intentionally, powerfully. The truth is, most of us were never taught what to do with anger. We were taught to hide it, shame it, and fear it. But as author Rebecca Traister reminds us, women’s rage has always been a force for change. It’s what fueled movements for suffrage, civil rights, reproductive rights, and equity in every form.
We don’t need to suppress that fire. We need to learn how to work with it.
As Jill Suttie writes in her Greater Good article, How Women Can Use Their Anger for Good, anger is what psychologists call an activating emotion. It is one that propels us to engage rather than withdraw. This is exactly what is needed to drive not just personal healing, but collective change. Drawing on the work of Soraya Chemaly, Suttie explains how women have long been socialized to suppress their anger to maintain likability and perceived femininity. But suppressed anger doesn't vanish. It festers, often leading to depression, anxiety, and disempowerment.
Instead, Chemaly argues that when women consciously engage their anger, they can begin to undo centuries of social conditioning. She suggests practices like developing emotional self-awareness, reframing anger as assertiveness rather than aggression, and channeling rage into deliberate, courageous action. "Anger, not sadness, leads to perceptions of higher status and respect," Chemaly writes. It’s not just about venting. It’s about redirecting that fire to burn down what no longer serves, and to illuminate what must be rebuilt.
Your anger is not a liability. It’s a signal. It’s a source that, when honored rather than hidden, it becomes a tool for change personally and societally.
This is where the concept of sublimation becomes crucial. As Allison Abrams, LCSW-R, explains in her Psychology Today article The Power and Shame of Women’s Anger, sublimation is an adaptive defense mechanism. One in which the energy of a biological impulse, such as anger, is transformed into socially or morally constructive action. Rather than turning our rage inward or unleashing it in a way that harms others, sublimation invites us to use our anger for advocacy, creation, and change.
Anger doesn’t have to be ugly. It can be strategic. It can be beautiful. It can be the thing that finally breaks the silence. When we channel it through conscious action, we begin to heal not only ourselves, but the systems that taught us to stay quiet in the first place.
A Gentle Practice: Turning Anger into Action
If you’re holding anger right now, try this:
Name It Without Judgement. Sit quietly and ask yourself: What am I angry about, really? Is it the event? The disrespect? The loss of control? The feeling of being unheard?
Trace It to Your Values. According to research, women’s anger is often linked to violations of deeply held values. Ask: What value of mine was violated? Fairness? Respect? Safety?
Move It Through Your Body. Anger is energy. Move it. Shake. Dance. Walk. Scream into a pillow. Do what your body needs to release the static without hurting yourself or anyone else.
Choose a Conscious Response. Ask: What needs to change? What boundary needs to be set? What truth needs to be spoken? What action can I take to honor my anger without burning everything down?
Close With Compassion. Place your hand on your heart and say: "My anger is not wrong. My anger is a guide. I trust it to show me what matters."
This isn’t about becoming reactive. It’s about becoming responsive with clarity, with courage, and with care.
References
Abrams, A. (2020, February 23). The Power and Shame of Women’s Anger. Psychology Today. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/nurturing-self-compassion/202002/the-power-and-shame-womens-anger
Suttie, J. (2018, October 4). How Women Can Use Their Anger for Good. Greater Good Magazine. https://greatergood.berkeley.edu/article/item/how_women_can_use_their_anger_for_good
Thomas, S., Smucker, C., & Droppleman, P. (1998). It hurts most around the heart: A phenomenological exploration of women's anger. Journal of Advanced Nursing, 28(2), 311–320. https://doi.org/10.1046/j.1365-2648.1998.00785.x
