The Reluctant Leader| Part Two: Why are women in this world angry?

Sandra Bargman, Luminary Leader

A Personal Experience

The Reluctant Leader: ANGER
Part Two: Why are women in this world angry?

Any woman on the planet can agree that there is a tidal wave of women's rage. I have only to mention sex trafficking, genital mutilation, and the #MeToo movement to conjure collective deep rage.

On a less dramatic and more universal level, gender inequality in society and in the workplace are core places to experience our anger.

Studies suggest there are some common routes to anger for women, most notably our feelings of our powerlessness and injustice. Women are paid less, they are not as valued in the workplace, and when they hit glass ceilings it's very hard for them to earn more.

This imbalance continues into the domestic arena When a woman is working and she comes home from work, she feels she must do so much more than the man does When it comes to child-rearing women again are far more responsible than men. A lot of women do not feel listened to, they don't feel valued, they don't feel appreciated, and they don't feel supported.

Young girls and women learn early, most notably from their mothers that there are penalties for displaying anger. Why do we learn as girls to ignore those feelings?

I came into this world with the belief, the knowing, that I was here on Earth to contribute to Life.

My mother told me that when I was around the age of three, I walked into the kitchen with my hands on my hips and announced to her that I was here on a MISSION.

I knew I had something to say. I am sure you knew you did, as well.

But also, I was to learn the well-known and demoralizing story of “Too Much”. Too loud. Too bossy. Too self-confident. Too sensitive. Too needy. Too pushy. Too crazy. For the record, I have been called all of these. I AM all of these, according to those in my circles for whom my exuberance for life and my engagement in society has triggered And, in response, I have twisted myself into multiple incarnations to fit in and be accepted, so much so that I have lost my voice, lost my self-respect, and felt myself the victim, not only by those I perceive have kept me down, but by myself.

I was raised by parents who came of age in the 50s, when girls were sugar and spice and everything nice. My parents were the quintessential good parents, the good daughter married the good son, prone to following the rules, side stepping confrontation and fitting into suburbia My mother was my best friend and greatest fan, and I lived her unrequited dream of performing. My father, angry at his own parents, tossed aside his natural rebel spirit for parenthood and took his anger out on my burgeoning creative thinking and preternatural ability to communicate. It was all there in my DNA. The good girl and the angry rebel.

MY ANGER

In her powerhouse book, Rage Becomes Her, Soroya Chemaly said “There is not a woman alive who does not understand that women’s anger is openly reviled ” By the time she was a young adult, Chemaly had developed the firm belief that she was not someone who experienced anger. She didn't identify feelings of anger in herself at all.

How many of us can relate to that? As the perpetual optimist, one who walked through the world with a large, enthusiastic life force as a child and a young adult, I certainly can

When I was 9 years old my parents moved us to their hometown of Pittsburgh, and I started in my new elementary school two days after we arrived.

My first day began well. I enjoyed the curiosity of the other school children toward me. After lunch, we had a half hour of playtime outside There was a large parking lot abutting a large baseball field This particular day, there was a game of keep away going on, with two teams. I meandered across the concrete to the field, longing to join the game. Would I be asked? You see, the game was being played by boys only.

Turns out, they were as curious about me, as I was eager to play, and finally I was put onto one of the teams. It didn't take long for them to see that I was a fast runner, so of course, the ball was given to me. And I was off. No one could catch me Turns out, my running caught the attention of the girls back on the concrete, and some of them came over to watch, along with some of the boys, huffing and puffing. The game came to stop, and I could feel the admiration of the boys, some looking down, and dirt kicking. And then the bell rang, the spell was broken, and we were back in class.

The Next Day Couldn't Come Fast Enough...

Next month: Part Three