The Pondering Priestess: I am an angry person.
Plus, The Beating Heart by Amanda Wanless
In this issue: Amanda Cornett shares her hard-earned family lessons. Artist and author Amanda Wanless uses poetry and art to express the struggle of living through difficult times.
Hard-Earned Lessons
By Amanda Cornett
I am an angry person. I didn’t always know this about myself. It used to be this angsty, all-consuming intensity like a black hole slowly imploding me from the inside. And I come by it honestly. When I say I am blessed to have come from a family over-brimming with love, it paints a beautiful, peaceful picture, doesn’t it?
But the truth is, they love with ferocity, criticism, and self-sacrifice. It is beautiful in its way, but maybe not so peaceful. I’m sure that describes a large percentage of families in any culture. However, this is the foundation of my creation: the constantly observing, over-analyzing, recovering perfectionist, big picture-striving, Pondering Priestess writes to you today from a very vulnerable place.
I almost submitted a poem for this month’s article. You see, it’s easy to hide behind universal technical jargon or flowy, cryptic poetry when trying to convey something hard learned. But I feel there is a depth that was sacrificed for objectivity when I carefully kept myself out of my latest two articles.
Now I can see the importance of sharing my why as much as my what. Which takes us back to my fiercely loving family.
I grew up around beautiful souls who held such unimaginable grief and suffering that they were often reactive. By that I mean quick to yell, quick to anger, quick to protect, quick to jump to the rescue.
It is important to note that I do not blame them in the least. Their generation had no room or support to speak of their traumas and hardships. They often had no choice but to roll up their sleeves and trudge along in life. Or not. There wasn’t much in between. Truly, isn’t it mind-blowing to realize how far we have come in psychology and mental health in such a short period of time?
Consider that the need for mental health support was a stigma going into the 1960s and 70s. Before that, people were just trying to survive world wars and economic depressions. That’s the head space of much of those generations.
We are all born with some natural tendencies, and mine was both to be curious about people’s perspective feelings and to help find peace. As a result, I often swallowed my own feelings to prevent others’ reactions.
It wasn’t until after I was well grown that I realized I didn’t allow myself to be angry. I didn’t allow myself to acknowledge my own suffering and issues because I knew mine were nothing compared to that of my elders and some of my friends. I could say their examples taught me that, and it wouldn’t be wrong. But there’s no power for my own growth in that.
What happened is that I became that person who found herself in the middle of everyone’s drama without having anything good to offer than my own love and support. I had no idea what boundaries looked like. I thought I was “helpful.”
What was really happening was that I was supporting a lot of dark behavior. My time and attention stretched out to save everyone while I drowned. Oh, I mentioned self-sacrificing at the beginning, didn’t I? I was well on the road to continuing some less-than-ideal family patterns.
After going through that self-destruction, I reached a point where I had to change or I was not going to make it. I retreated from everyone, from my goals, and even from some of my personal values. I became the Hermit, as described in Ruth Souther’s February article Tarot Wisdom. I reorganized my priorities, set my boundaries and came back into the world of the living.
As old patterns began to immerge, I began to grow frantic. How the hell was I supposed to speak my truth, hold my boundaries, AND be true to my nature without pushing away everyone I loved?
My heart knew there had to be an answer.
So, I chucked negativity. Yes, laugh at me. I oozed toxic positivity. I hadn’t yet learned how to be accepting of where I was in my emotional and mental health, much less that of anyone else. I just knew we had to change and that pushed everyone away.
I was seeing people where I thought they should be rather than where they were. That included myself. I would say “you should count your blessings,” and “be thankful it wasn’t worse.”
That didn’t work either.
After years of ups and downs with my family and my spiritual journey, I finally got called out. I did an intuitive painting class with my good friend Kevin. I’m going to give him a shout out here because it’s only fair! If you haven’t seen his incredible artwork, please check it out at Kevin-Hutchins.pixels.com.
When I brought my painting back for his opinion, he looked up at me with extreme compassion and asked me, “Amanda, why are you so angry?”
Something inside me broke. I’d only ever been accused of being angry, never acknowledged. I cried my anger. I journaled my anger. I screamed it, I walked it, I painted it.
Afterward, peace washed over me. Not constantly or anything. I still had ups and downs. I still had challenges. I still fell into patterns of forgetting to allow myself to be angry. But after acknowledging and honoring my feelings, I was able to recenter more often. I had the tools.
Then I realized I needed freedom to be myself in order to have peace in my relationships with my family. I lovingly made that space and again reorganized my priorities.
I didn’t swear anyone off or purposefully drop contact with anyone. I did a lot of therapeutic work to be able to have my own feelings without being reactive. To be able to hold space without making expectation. To be able to stand in my truth without having to convince anyone that I was right.
I read the 4 Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. “Don’t take anything personally.” Wow, what a concept. I started to see that their reactions were usually a result of their mental space, not my truths. I began to let go of what wasn’t mine. In each moment of reaction, I stop and take a second to check myself before choosing to take accountability, speak my truth, or let it go.
Little by little I realized I had been over critical of everyone, especially myself. I thought holding space meant to hold people to their potential. I pursued Ruth Souther’s Vega’s Path Priestess Process several times. She taught me that holding space is accepting people where they are.
My family loves fiercely because they are passionate. They love critically because they want the best for each other. They self-sacrifice because they had to sacrifice to find their own happiness. They didn’t want their kids to have to do the same. They make mistakes because they are evolving human beings treading new waters, just like you and me.
In the long haul, I grew into who I am today because of them. It’s amazing to look at the culmination of everyone’s journeys and how it comes to a head in each different person’s story. What tangled webs, and all.
My family still have a lot of trouble communicating. We have big family fights. It’s challenging and sometimes hurtful and infuriating. We butt heads on important things like politics and personal boundaries. I still sometimes go in circles with the drama and put myself in the middle. But I am not imploding. I am not blaming. Now I am more grounded and centered. I handle things better most of the time.
Through it all, I’ve learned some of the most priceless lessons:
Love people where they are. Their reactions are theirs, and not something you or anyone else can control.
Know that your truth doesn’t change if someone else doesn’t believe it.
Being right isn’t always the priority.
Accusations will never move the mountains that compassion can.
You can be both angry and compassionate. It is possible to understand that someone’s experiences have brought them to a place that you don’t understand.
Having strong boundaries means being responsive instead of reactive. Boundaries and holding space makes room for growth. Holding space means loving someone where they are without expectation while leaving room for them to grow in their own time.
And finally, personal vulnerability holds space for your own self growth. That is much more powerful in creating connections than objectivity ever could be.
I encourage you to ask yourself:
Where in your relationships are you holding expectations instead of encouragement?
Where are you degrading in your convictions rather than encouraging in your compassions?
What are you taking personally that is not yours?
Where are you making judgments about people because you can’t understand where they are coming from?
Where do you feel the most misunderstood? Can your actions reflect your truth? Can you release any need to prove yourself to others?
What lessons have you to share?
I may not know who you are, but you’ve made it this far, and I love you all the more for it. Life lessons are hard-earned. Let’s bring each other up, even in our silences and our anger. Living our individual convictions with compassion creates ripples. That is where collective growth begins.
We, the Beating Heart
By: Amanda Wanless
The world is heavy, frayed and torn,
a breaking thread, a promise sworn.
The air is thick with fear and doubt,
we wonder—will the light burn out?
We watch the storm, the rising tide,
injustice creeping far and wide.
The roots run deep, the wounds still ache,
how much more can people take?
And yet, the dawn still paints the sky,
a whispered hope we won’t deny.
We breathe, we rest, we tend our space,
small moments filled with love and grace.
We steep our tea, we light a spark,
let candles chase away the dark.
We plant our seeds, we sing our song,
a quiet act to right the wrong.
The weight is heavy, shadows creep,
the hollow promises he won’t keep.
The ground may shake, the sky may fall,
but still, we rise—we heed the call.
Though this old world will break apart,
we, the people, are its beating heart.
And in our hands, though bruised and worn,
a brighter world is slowly born.