Two days ago, I felt a flame in my heart. I knew it was anger. As I have learned, I no longer said I was angry; that’s not my identity. Instead, I continuously reminded myself that I was experiencing anger. By doing this, I was able to be more conscious, separating myself from my feelings while at the same time acknowledging that the experience was happening within me.
The problem was, I didn’t know what had actually happened. I had an idea of what triggered me, but I wasn’t sure why. It was like an unfinished puzzle; pieces scattered everywhere, but none seemed to fit.
I tried to sit with my body and my feelings, hoping that stillness would bring clarity. I placed my hand over my heart, feeling its rhythm, waiting for my body to whisper its truth. But the flame inside only grew hotter. I felt a tightness on the right side of my chest, a dull ache that wouldn’t subside. Instinctively, I tapped that sore spot with gentle fingers, offering it affection and reassurance: “You’re okay. You are safe.”
But inside, I could feel that it didn’t work.
