Today, I met my rage. Not for the first time, but in a way I had never truly allowed before. It started with grief—the deep ache of losing Mac, my beautiful white Lab, the child I never got to have. He was my constant companion, my beach-loving, wave-jumping, one-eared explorer of joy. And then, in a moment of cruel choice, he was taken from me. Blocked. Erased from my daily life by someone who held power over me in that moment.

It wasn’t just losing Mac—it was the helplessness of it. The familiar feeling of being overpowered, of having no say, of swallowing down the rage because I didn’t know where to put it. I’ve done this before. Too many times. When I was violated. When I was taken advantage of. When I wasn’t given a choice. Each time, I suppressed the fire and let sadness take its place because sadness felt safer.

But today, something shifted.

I felt it in my body first—my hips trembling, vibrating with the energy that had been locked away for so long. I didn’t know what to do with it. My mind immediately tried to shut it down, whispering old fears: Rage is bad. Rage is dangerous. If you let it out, you’ll hurt someone.

But then, I asked the question: Is that absolutely true?

And the answer came: No.

When I believe rage is bad, I suppress it. I turn it inward. I make myself sick instead of standing up for myself. But who would I be without that thought?

Happy. At peace with myself.

I don’t have to hold this alone. I don’t have to fear my own power. Rage isn’t destruction—it’s energy, it’s movement, it’s truth. It’s not black-and-white, not an all-or-nothing battle between suppression and explosion.

There is a third way.

The colourful way.

For so long, people have talked about black-and-white thinking versus the grey in between, but I never wanted to be stuck in the grey. The grey felt lifeless, a place of compromise rather than truth. But colour? Colour is vibrant. It’s alive. It holds contrast without collapse. And today, I realised that’s how I want to hold my rage. Not as something to fear, not as something to control—but as something to integrate, something to make space for in a way that brings me closer to myself.

Rage, like all feelings, is just energy. And I am safe to feel it. Safe to move with it. Safe to be with it.

Today, I saw that I don’t have to suppress or explode—I can create a new way.

I can choose the colourful way.

And that, in itself, is freedom.