Your Anger Isn't About Him (Spoiler: It Never Was)
What Your Amygdala, Your Ancestors, and Your Liver Want You to Know
A tragicomedy featuring: You, Your Liver, Your Nervous System (as the dramatic friend), One Mediocre Man, and a Guest Appearance by Your Father’s Unresolved Shit
ACT ONE: THE PLOT TWIST YOU DIDN’T SEE COMING
So there you are, minding your own business, doing your healing work, feeling pretty evolved, like, you’ve read The Body Keeps the Score, you follow all the right Instagram therapists, you’ve got a meditation app subscription you actually use sometimes and then BAM his name comes up in conversation and suddenly you’re a rage dragon breathing fire across the Whole Foods produce section. 🐉🔥
You think: “Why am I still mad at this man? It’s been YEARS. I’ve done the therapy. I’ve burned the sage. I’ve done that weird thing with the egg cleanse my tía taught me. I even unfollowed him on Instagram AND muted his stories. What more does the universe WANT from me?”
But here’s the cosmic punchline, babe: Your anger isn’t about him at all. I know, I know. Plot twist of the century. M. Night Shyamalan just called, he wants his narrative structure back.
What you’re experiencing is what we can call a Repeating Frequency, a neural loop that’s still doing the cha-cha with his energetic imprint in your cellular tissue. It’s like your body is a jukebox that got stuck on the saddest song from 2019, and every time someone mentions his name, it’s like dropping another quarter in the slot. Cue the sad trombone: wah wah waaaaaah. 🎺
But wait, there’s a subplot you didn’t see coming: You have a child together.
Which means you can’t just block and delete like he’s a bad Tinder date who sent unsolicited dick pics. No no no. You get to co-parent, which is God’s way of saying, “You thought you were done learning lessons from this person? CUTE. Here’s 18 years of mandatory communication. Enjoy your spiritual curriculum. There will be a test. It’s called ‘every interaction forever.’ You’re WELCOME.” 🎓😅
And here’s the thing that makes this whole situation cosmically hilarious: Your kid is fine with him. Your kid actually LIKES him. Because children are little Zen masters who haven’t learned yet that they’re supposed to hold grudges and make vision boards about emotional boundaries. They’re just like, “Dad brought me a Happy Meal and let me stay up late watching cartoons. Life is beautiful. What’s your problem, Mom?”
Meanwhile, you’re over here writing manifestos about intergenerational trauma patterns while your kid is just vibing, eating chicken nuggets, living their best life. 🍟✨ Your kid doesn’t need you to heal this. You do.
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This essay grew up and moved out. It lives in NO LONGER AVAILABLE: Why Everything Falls Apart When You Finally Choose New and How to Stay now.
The full text is in print. A book with a spine, a cover, and a body that holds the whole thing.
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