I used to be so angry at my partner.
Angry at his absence. At his inability to notice what was going on inside of me.
By the way, he seemed so uninterested and unavailable to me.
I wanted him to feel me. To see me.
And when he didn’t, the rage inside me increased.
I wasn’t screaming at him. My anger was not direct, not impulsive. I had learned to be a good girl and not show my rage - actually, I would not even consciously feel it.
Instead, I was punishing David with my withdrawal, my unavailability, my bitterness, and sharp darts of disdain.
When our first son was born, the anger inside me burst wide open. And suddenly, I had no filter for my rage anymore.
I was furious at David for not noticing all the things that needed to be done.
My rage was volcanic.
We were lucky to be living in the Inla Kesh community, surrounded by people who could hold space for us.
I brought my rage into the collective healing spaces.
My perception of time became non-linear.
My body became a living archive of wounds — mine, my ancestors’, my past lives’.
I could feel the weight of thousands of years of patriarchy pressing into my cells.
I began to understand: my rage wasn’t just mine.
It was the rage of countless women whose voices had been silenced, whose wisdom had been feared and erased.
I also started to see the wound mirrored in men — the generations of numbness, self-protection, and hearts armored in steel just to survive.
Back then, we were hosting transformational trainings from Possibility Management at Inla Kesh.
In one of them, I experienced a life-changing initiation:
The women stood in one line, the men in another, facing each other.
We — the women — poured out our rage at patriarchy.
Yelling. Sobbing. Roaring.
And the men just stood there. Present. Listening.
It cracked something open in me.
To be witnessed without judgment.
To be held by the masculine without it retreating or shutting me down.
Slowly, the ice in my heart began to melt.
Beneath my rage, I found the grief. The longing. The centuries of misunderstanding.
I started to see men again — their pain, their loss, their grief.
I saw them as equally wounded, equally longing for reconnection.
Patriarchy has stolen from all of us.
Women were taught to shrink and obey.
Men were taught to harden and disconnect.
In the courageous, open-hearted presence of different men — above all, my partner David — the dark, cold rock of hatred in my heart began to melt.
As he was receiving my pain, my fury, David said to me:
“Your rage is waking me up.”
I saw him change before my eyes.
I no longer saw an incapable, insecure boy-man.
I felt him in his true authority and masculine radiance.
His love pierced through my rage and pain, opening my heart.
My body melted under his deep gaze.
I relaxed. I surrendered.
Tears of relief and gratitude poured from my eyes.
Today, I can distinguish between my emotional anger towards men and my real necessity.
I have decided to stop waiting for men to behave the way I want them to.
Because I want them to succeed in making love to me.
And this is why I decided to go first.
To lead this revolution of love and consciousness between genders.
I see it as my sacred duty to become the Queen who invites men into Heaven's Garden.
To show them how a woman wants to be loved, how she wants to be seen, and worshiped.
Today, I choose to use all the amazing fuel of my conscious anger to negotiate intimacy with men.
I let them know what I want and need, and I negotiate when something doesn’t work for me.
I am no longer the victim of their absence.
I am the fierce warrioress who takes them by the hand and holds space for them to heal and transition into their authentic, mature, radiant, archetypal masculinity.