On The Constraints of Female Rage in Die My Love

“Every woman has a storehouse of anger. It will either destroy her or remake her.” – Audre Lorde

Somewhere between the ages of 22 and 25, I found myself drowning on dry land, torn between my tormented “good girl” identity and my longing for something to make me feel. more truth, more match, more Authentic. I had my first panic attack while eating a grass-fed beef burger in front of my parents, and the ketchup stuck in my throat as I almost screamed. Their faces were filled with confusion and they asked curiously. “Why did you panic? You’re okay, you’re safe, you have what you need.”

It was true…in a physical sense.

Still, the tension with my inner being I knew The truth is that I thought I had to because the box I was chained to became too noisy and problematic.

Was it a rage? Was it anger? Was it the lingering sadness of what on earth was burning like wildfire inside me?

And I quickly realized that I needed to get out of my world. own Well, no matter what institutions or structures there are, I was made to believe that I had no choice but to stay here…

anger and longing

Die My LoveJennifer Lawrence’s latest film, brilliantly captures the lines of a woman metaphorically captured in her longing for the wild. It’s completely poetic, confusing, and rich. The story is poetic, complex in structure but rich in themes, anger and longing.

This is the story of a woman on the brink of a nervous breakdown, who seeks self-destruction just to feel alive, triggered by the birth of another human being who appears to have been stripped of all identity other than “Mommy.”

Her self-destructive anger is never directed at her baby, but rather at the world that has forced her into a domestic shell, or at her marriage to a checked-out partner, where play is no longer part of the equation of her marriage, work, or herself. We, the audience, are unsure of what is true and what is not as the characters move closer and closer to their limits, or perhaps freedom.

I couldn’t help but wonder if stepping into “anger” was a defeat. Rather, it seems like an effort to find a new, reinvented self, stripped of titles and misplaced identities, allowing one to feel connected and alive once again. And “Rage” is a poetic expression of the journey of grieving and re-centering ourselves, the identities that have been imposed on us through our people, our beliefs, and our communities. who We really are.

It’s a well-known aspiration in the women’s world. A longing that can be easily silenced or pushed away before realizing there’s no real way back to the girl we really know.

Made for more, more

I have to understand the stories that shaped my life into what I knew it to be at the time. It was a story of how the system forces young women into the idea of ​​being a “yes woman” who nods, endures, accepts, and denies courage, grit, and boldness. Women were almost looked down upon for occupying space, mind, body, and soul.

(Please note, readers and moms, that thankfully my parents have never imposed this kind of ideology on me.)

More specifically, in the faith community I was a part of, from school to the workplace, women were sidelined, and if they spoke boldly or aggressively, they were immediately labeled as “crazy.” Women were not supposed to ask for what they needed, whether it was in a romantic relationship or within the confines of a religious system.

I remember my New Testament professor at the Southern Baptist University I attended telling me very bluntly, “Don’t think about it. You’re not very good at it.” While most of the class tried to hide their lives, I held back tears as I counted the tiles on the ceiling one by one. Over the course of a dozen relationships, I remember feeling extremely small every time my needs were voiced or requested, and every time I was ignored and labeled as just “sensitive.” And I accepted it all for longer than I should have.

And no, I don’t look back on these moments as a victim. Because so many people, men and women alike, are hurt by the patriarchal ideology that permeates the spaces and souls of religion and faith. Instead, I look back on those moments as the beginning of the end and the beginning of the “more” that awaited me.

That was when I finally shed my old skin, old thought patterns, and old perceptions of what it meant. live, moveand Get used to it As a woman, I felt that something new was emerging from this rugged soil.

That anger led me to newness, to wholeness, and brought me back to that girl I had somehow lost along the way. It came through the help of friends, reconnecting with the hobbies that brought me back to life, and learning that it’s okay to take up space by expressing my opinions, needs, and desires.

Most importantly, I’ve come to understand that patriarchy and harmful ideas of what women’s roles should be will lead me down a dead-end path. It may not be lonely, but the streets are stuffy…

Scary yet wonderful work

I think I have come to a place of calm within myself that is on the other side of the anger. A place where I am curious to know more about me and the things that make me happy and the things that scare me. We have all heard it said that we are all fearfully and wonderfully made. But it is our job to unleash that part of us through boldness and bold choices and decisions.

Anger took me to these new places of discovery and brought me back to the version of me I was always created to be.

I’m sorry I forgot about her for so long…

This review was first published Easy to culture November 14, 2025. Republished here with permission of the author.