Lungevity

For SO long, I was the nice girl. And being part of the millennial generation as Instagram was growing, it was all Love n Light only vibes only (🤮 I know, right). 

In battling my health condition and misplaced thoughts around how energy works, I genuinely believed this was the key to healing and getting better. 

My experience in relationships was also fraught with emotional volatility. I wasn’t confrontational, and I always wanted to keep the peace. But this was at the cost of my own peace. And my own happiness. I believed rage was bad. 

Playing it nice and sending good energy regardless of how someone else was behaving was all that was taught. It still is everything that is taught at times. 

Hook, Line and Sinker

“You attracted this with your thoughts.”

“This is what you manifested.”

“These are your life lessons.”

“Your soul asked for this.” 

“Anger is a bad emotion. You should focus only on good feelings. Then you will feel better.” 

The dangers of some teachings in spirituality are hyper-focused on your external conditions or illness being a result of your own thoughts and negative energy. The onus is placed 100% on the individual, and it forgets how complicit the institutionalised systems and patriarchal bullshit are.

In parallel to this, for centuries, women have been silenced. In every way possible. 

Play nice, don’t argue, submit, surrender, serve. 

Don’t get me wrong, responsibility for one’s own mindset, behaviour, and actions is critical, but placing blame on the self for what you cannot control is dangerous. 

Spirituality has its place, and of course it’s important for someone to help them make sense of whatever is happening and become more aware and attuned to their thoughts, as well as rewiring and redirecting energy to all the right places. 

It’s accountability in the sense that one can take control of many things with their own thoughts and actions. But there are also many factors that can’t be controlled, and the suggestions shouldn’t reek of guilt and blame. 

I don’t know about others, but I certainly tried to tend to my own mind-gardening by planting nice thoughts only and suppressing or ripping out angry weeds. I paid them very little attention in the beginning.

Growing up, in school, in education, in relationships, friendships, work, and day-to-day encounters, I would stay quiet, lack solid boundaries, and steer clear of any confrontation. I’d want to keep the peace, probably didn’t assert my needs enough, and likely felt I was too needy or selfish. 

Particularly with a chronic illness, I had a guilty burden complex. 

But I also know, from millions of other women, toxic masculinity and the alarming rates of domestic violence, women are sadly conditioned or forced to stay silent, meek and quiet. It’s been like that for centuries because of the patriarchy. 

A Raging Road

After eight months of battling non-stop hospitalisations in 2024 and years of chronic illness, I was referred for a lung transplant. In early 2025, I was sent to the Freeman Hospital in Newcastle in an ambulance from Scotland. Mostly apathetic, full of grief and sadness, something happened that, for some reason, seemed to change the tides. 

I must make it clear – this does not reflect the service or overall reputation of the lung transplant team in Newcastle. It was a separate ward that had patients with a mix of conditions and those waiting for an evaluation of some sort. 

Without boring you with the details, there was a lot of mistreatment from the head nurse and some of her staff, including the cleaner, so having had enough, I used the last of my energy to scream at her for the injustice to me and my mother.

Other patients nodded their heads from their beds and were in full agreement. 

I was proud of myself for sitting in the middle of a bed, at only 85 pounds in weight, with little physical strength, still getting used to supplemental oxygen, and yet LETTING RIP. 

But it wasn’t just a scream. It was sacred rage. I, somehow, mustered enough energy while seriously ill and released many things that seemed buried for a while. 

After that, I felt much better. I stood up for myself and others. And very strangely, one day after that, I got wonderful news: I qualified for getting on the lung transplant list, got home and haven’t been back in hospital since. 

It got me thinking about how important being a raging queen can be 😌. 

The Sacred Part

I love this definition of ‘sacred rage’ from Avos Counselling: 

“Rage is not inherently destructive. Like fire, it has the power to burn down or to illuminate. Sacred rage is the kind that rises from the soul’s knowing that something is deeply out of alignment—whether it’s in a personal relationship, a cultural system, or the way we treat the Earth. It’s the energy that says, “No more. Not from a place of hate, but from a place of truth.

Sacred rage is not about vengeance or volatility. It’s not reactive; it’s responsive. It arises when we are in contact with our deepest values—when our love for justice, dignity, safety, or belonging is violated. In this way, sacred rage is a protector, a guardian of what matters most. Our rage right now is ancestral. It is a longtime coming AND I encourage you to have an open heart right alongside it. 

When we allow this rage to move through our bodies with intention and awareness, it can be a sacred practice. A declaration that something holy within us refuses to be silenced.”

Ok, my rage back then was more explosive and reactive, but it was a container, and it was the beginning of something. An awareness where I realised, Okay, I can channel this and use it to move me through life in harmony. 

In some ways, I do think it helps me release the stress, particularly as a disabled person; I can’t go to the gym to sweat it off. 

Your Raging Rights

Especially today, fighting the monstrosities of modern society requires sacred rage from all of us. 

Dr Kim Corson, a holistic coach and psychologist, writes in her article, Unlocking the Power of Anger: 

“Women, in particular, are judged more harshly if we express anger. It’s tied up in the idea of goodness and morality for women, and so, over generations, we’ve learned to catch the feeling in our throats, to swallow it, essentially. 

But of course, it comes out one way or another, through resentment, passive aggression, or overpleasing. How liberating could it be if we slowly start expressing our needs, bit by bit? What would happen if we re-own our true emotions (rewild) and express them before they boil over? What if an angry woman wasn’t seen as a threat or a bitch but merely a human with needs and emotions? What if women felt safe to express their anger”

Now I embrace my anger and let it be as it is. 

Women of the world: let’s do ourselves a favour and be silenced no more!

Whether through somatic therapy or simply listening to rage music, punching a pillow or channelling it through social justice, there are so many ways we can have a raging old time!