I Am Angry at How Polite I’ve Had to Become

Dear Delyara, I am angry at how often I have translated pain into acceptable language. How often I have softened truth so the room could stay comfortable. How often I’ve smiled before saying something difficult, or made a joke before asking for respect, or disguised my own hurt as maturity because women who speak plainly about damage get called intense, dramatic, bitter, hard. I have been so polite with my own suffering. And I think that politeness has cost me years. I’m not saying I wish I had been cruel. I’m saying I wish I had been clearer. Earlier. Louder in the right ways. Less eager to protect everyone else from the emotional reality of what things were doing to me. That anger feels earned. I’m trying not to turn it back against myself.