I don't yell anymore

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Image: My inflammatory osteoarthritis wrist split that is supporting my full disc tear Artwork Credit: Stephanie Laine

I don’t yell anymore. 

My emotional range no longer contains ‘rage’.

I do experience anger, but it never bubbles up and erupts verbally in someone else’s direction.

And it isn’t because my anti-anxiety/anti-depression medication has dulled that desire. 

No.

I eradicated this maladaptive coping strategy myself, over a number of years, with considerable effort. 

I sought a lot of help from excellent people in the mental health field.

But mostly, I did it myself.

Because I wanted to.

Why did I yell?

“You aren’t a real artist.”

“If you want to come back and do Honours, you should be prepared to have a few more fights.”

“I need to protect myself from you now.”

“You should keep your mouth shut.”

“You’ll get what you’re given.”

“Well, it’s goodbye Genevieve.”

The twelve-hour to three-day fights.

The invisiblising of my disability and chronic health problems.

The intolerance of my difference.

The gall of me to voice my own opinion.

The outrage of me refusing to fall in line and do what I was told.  To succumb.  To give in.

I've had lots of good reasons to yell over my lifetime, and I still do, and yet I choose not to. 

I’ve mastered my temper. I choose calm over anger.

And I enjoy it.

How would you feel if you were me?

Physically and socially isolated.

Unable to work.

Around five medical and allied health appointments a week.

A care team of nine specialist doctors and multiple allied health professionals across several hospitals.

Having arms and legs that don’t work properly.

Not being able to do simple things that you like doing, like driving, making a clay pot, or lifting a glass of water to your mouth.

Having a brain that’s permanently addled by decades of abuse and trauma.

Being in pain all the time.

Now, my emotional range moves between happy, neutral, and depressed. I wish I could write ‘sad’ there, but it would not be honest. I struggle a lot with depression.

The professionals tell me I have had too many psycho-social stressors in my life to be able to ever shake the black dog. It will always be with me. I have to learn to live with it. And the people who interact with me have to learn to accept that. 

But the anger inside me – it’s gone.

Gen Memory

May 2025