Into the Abyss: Rage, Anger, and the Alchemy of Transformation
There’s a wisdom in our fear of feelings, a visceral knowing that beneath their surface lies an uncharted abyss. Without formal training or textbooks, every human being senses it: a place where the bottom is unseen, where control dissolves, and where the self becomes unfamiliar. Most of us skirt its edges. It’s not cowardice but survival—a quiet acknowledgment that to dive into those depths might mean meeting the parts of ourselves we’ve spent lifetimes running from.
But what happens when life gives you no choice? When the universe grabs your shoulders and hurls you into the void? That’s what happened to me. The descent wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t scripted. It wasn’t some meditative, candlelit exploration. It was violent, brutal, raw. And now, on the edge of what feels like the other side, I want to share what I found—not for pity, not for comparison, but because sometimes, in another’s story, we catch a glimpse of our own truth
The Descent: A Storm of My Own Making
Over the past few weeks, I’ve lived in a storm so ferocious it felt like it might tear me apart. Rage coursed through me—explosive, animalistic, uncontainable. It wasn’t fleeting. It wasn’t some passing frustration easily reasoned away. It was a torrent, a flood of emotions too long ignored, too tightly bottled, demanding its space.
I didn’t just feel anger; I became it. I wanted to destroy, to rupture everything: my life and my sense of purpose. There were moments when I wanted to scream until my voice shattered, to beat against the walls of the universe for the unbearable weight it had placed on me.
And yet, amidst the chaos, there was this strange, quiet pull: Just get through one more day. See what tomorrow brings. Perhaps the storm will shift. It wasn’t hope exactly, but a stubborn refusal to let the abyss swallow me whole.
Meeting the Goddess of Destruction
In that storm, I met a part of myself I’d never fully acknowledged—a force I can only describe as the goddess of destruction. She was terrifying, unrelenting, and yet utterly captivating. This wasn’t some abstract archetype or spiritual metaphor. It was the living, breathing embodiment of my own unprocessed rage, born from years of self inflicted wounds, buried hurts, and suppressed power.
Her presence wasn’t gentle. She didn’t ask for permission to appear. She didn’t want to be soothed or reasoned with. She was there to burn it all down, to force me to confront what I’d hidden, not just from the world but from myself.
The Origins of My Anger
This rage wasn’t just mine. It was an amalgamation:
Personal wounds – The unspoken griefs and losses that had never been given room to breathe.
Inherited traumas – The generational pain I’d unknowingly carried, the anger passed down like an heirloom through bloodlines.
Other people’s burdens – The anger of others I’d absorbed, internalised, and mistaken as my own.
The World’s Reflection: The Power of Witnessing
Months before this eruption, I stood at a distance, watching a workshop on anger by Amenti Move Meant. The founder spoke about the violence and suffering in the world and in particular in White people as a reflection of our inability to face our own rage and so we inflict it onto others through our the social and behaviour structures we live by.
I didn’t join the workshop then; I wasn’t ready. But now, having faced the storm within, I see the truth in those words. The anger we deny doesn’t disappear. It festers. It explodes. It shapes the world in ways far more harmful than if we’d just let ourselves feel it.
The Shame of the Eruption
In the middle of my process, I felt paralysed. I couldn’t function in the way I thought I “should.” I wasn’t working with as many clients as I had wanted to, helping others, or even holding space for friends and family the way I wanted to. And with that came shame. Who was I if I wasn’t productive? If I wasn’t the calm, compassionate presence people expected?
But here’s the truth: the work I was doing—the internal grappling, the descent into my own darkness—was action. It was just invisible, slow, and unrecognisable even to me.
I realised that part of my shame came from trying to meet the needs of others while I was barely holding myself together. People wanted me to be mindful of my impact on them, but I couldn’t. Not then. I was already containing as much as I could.
And in that realisation, I found compassion—not just for myself but for others. When people ask us to be mindful in our anger, what they’re really saying is, “I see your rage, and I don’t know if I can hold it. Please, don’t make me.” There’s care in that. But there’s also a profound truth: we are our own containers. No one else can hold the full weight of our eruption.
The Alchemy of Anger
What I’ve learned through this process is that anger, when faced consciously, is not just destructive. It’s transformative. Like a volcano, it destroys what no longer serves and lays the groundwork for new life.
I didn’t want to process my anger “mindfully.” I didn’t want to journal it away, meditate through it, or intellectualise it. I wanted to feel it—to scream, hit, and rage. And while I didn’t act on those impulses, just acknowledging them was powerful.
This process has taught me that anger is:
A force of creation as much as destruction. It holds the power to reshape, rebuild, and reignite.
Deeply personal and universal. My anger is mine, but it’s also tied to the collective wounds of humanity.
A teacher. In its depths, I found parts of myself I didn’t know existed—strength, clarity, and a sense of untapped power.
The Path Forward
As I sit here now, I feel lighter but not entirely free. This is just the beginning of the integration phase, where the lessons of the abyss become tools for life. There’s still a part of me that wants to scream—not out of rage anymore, but as an expression of the power I’ve found.
This journey has taught me that new foundations can’t be built on suppressed emotions. Like the volcano, we need to explode sometimes. And in that eruption, we find the diamond: the piece of ourselves we’ve been waiting for, the life force we didn’t know we’d lost.
An Invitation to Rage
If you’re reading this, perhaps you’re in your own storm. Or maybe you’re standing at the edge of your abyss, hesitating, unsure whether to step in or turn away. Before you choose either path—before fear pulls you back or the unknown pulls you under—pause to understand the rhythm of your own energy. What rises within you? What falls away? What fuels you and what drains you? Knowing this about myself didn’t take away the storm. It didn’t soften the rage or dissolve the anger. But it helped me move through the process with clarity, recognising the shape of my energy and trusting the wisdom of its cycle.
Whether it’s anger you’re confronting, or sadness, frustration, or stagnation, learning your own energetic flow—how you rise into vitality and how you descend into reflection—can become a compass in navigating even your most powerful emotions. It’s not about control but about understanding, giving you the courage to face the storm and the grace to emerge on the other side. If you’d like to explore this deeper, The Prosperity Recode offers a year of conscious belief shifts to help you align with your energy and step more fully into your power and if you are in the recovery phase from a life threatening illness and want a bespoke version of the prosperity recode programme, then why not check out The Dandelion Programme.
Feel it. Face it. Let it burn. And when the storm passes, gather the gems it reveals. Because beyond every abyss lies a heart capable of holding continents. That heart, undeniably, is yours.