Last week, I went to a local rage room here in Charlotte called The House of Purge.

I was feeling a lot of pent up anger that needed to find its way out of my body. I knew it was time when I started to feel irrationally angry while watching Love Island US.

I thought to myself, Why am I so irritated at these people I don’t even know? Reality TV is supposed to be fun!

Love Island wasn’t the problem, though. It was/is everything else.

It’s this administration. ICE. Capitalism. Anti-trans legislation. The attack on Planned Parenthood. All the systems meant to oppress and “keep us in line” working so seamlessly.

The constant news cycle of cruelty has been chipping away at me piece by piece, and it started impacting my relationships, my focus, my sanity, my joy.

So I decided to go hit some shit.

I started with a carefully curated rage playlist. An eclectic mix, to be sure, that I was able to hook up to a huge speaker via Bluetooth.

I put on my safety gear. I listened to the owner’s instructions while staring at the graffiti on the wall, specifically the non-censored “C U Next Tuesday” in bold neon letters.

Once I was alone in the room, I let it rip.

I started with a line of empty beer bottles. Every time I felt my steel bat crash into the brown glass, I felt a little bit lighter — the sound of the glass breaking reverberated off the walls in the most satisfying way.

There was an old beat-up car on the other side of the room. The windows had already been smashed out by the many ragers who came before me.

I held the bat over my head like a lightsaber and began striking the dented trunk over and over until I ran out of breath.

Not even 10 minutes into my 30-min appointment, I was dripping sweat. A physical manifestation of release.

I made my way back over to a pile of junk on the floor: printers, speakers, half broken mugs…

It was a lot easier than I imagined it would be, to slip into sanctioned violence, swinging my bat with abandon.

I thought I’d be more ceremonial about it. Like, “this beer bottle represents fascism” and then SMASH. But my mind went blank. All I could focus on was the sound of destruction and the blaring music.

By the time my 30 minutes had passed, I was drenched in sweat. My arms were tired. My hands sore from gripping the bat so tightly.

I felt euphoric. I felt relieved. My mind felt clearer, like I could access parts of my brain that had gone dormant while in survival mode the last few months.

I’d had a very successful rage room therapy session, and I am so much better for it.

What emotion needs to be felt for you this week? Is there something you can do to give that emotion some space to express itself?

P.S. Shoutout to , whose CREATE program session encouraged me to find a way to let this rage out.

Rage, love and workflows,

Andrea