We don’t talk enough about the rage.
Not the anger you can neatly tuck away, but the blood-curdling, body-shaking kind that leaves you trembling long after the moment passes.
For survivors of childhood sexual abuse, rage often feels like the one emotion we’re never allowed to have. We’ve been told to “be forgiving,” to “let it go,” to “move on.” And so, when the rage awakens, uninvited, uncontrollable, we panic.
We start to ask ourselves:
- Does this mean I’m out of control?
- Does this mean I haven’t healed enough?
- Does this mean I’m just like them?
When Rage First Showed Up for Me
In Part 1, I shared how anger can surprise you when your voice returns after years or decades of silence. Today, we’re going deeper.
Before I ever spoke out publicly, I seethed in private about how one man in one family was allowed to cause harm to so many people, and no one attempted to put a stop to it.
There was much blame to go around, but I also understood what fear creates and how abusers master the art of manipulation to keep victims bound in silence.
I wrestled daily, carrying a storm of emotions, one of them was anger. I was angry because I was hurting. Because I felt betrayed. Because I had been abandoned. I felt anger creep in every time I thought about children and adults who had suffered like me, and those who would, if people kept looking the other way.
The first time rage erupted in me, it wasn’t just anger, it was volcanic. My jaw clenched. My chest tightened. My vision blurred. I bit my lips until I tasted blood. For a moment, I was outside myself, watching this wave tear through me.
And then came the shame.
The voice in my head whispered: See? You caused this. You staying silent made him hurt others. You’ll never be whole. You’re still broken.
That was a lie.
What I didn’t realize then is what I see clearly now: my rage wasn’t proof of brokenness. It was proof something inside me had finally woken up.
Rage as an Alarm, Not a Failure
Here’s what I know now: rage is not the enemy. Rage is the alarm system that goes off when too much has been stolen, silenced, or dismissed.
When my younger cousin disclosed her abuse to me, the rage nearly burned me alive. It wasn’t bitterness, it was a righteous objection. My body was screaming: This is not okay. This should never have happened. Somebody should have stopped it. Why wasn’t it stopped?
That rage didn’t mean I was failing at healing.
It meant the fire inside me was finally refusing to play dead.
Anger is a signal, not a verdict.
It doesn’t mean you’re broken.
It doesn’t mean you’ve “failed” at healing.
And it certainly doesn’t mean you’ve turned into the person who hurt you.
It’s your body saying: We’re not pretending anymore.
It’s your spirit saying: We deserved better.
It’s your soul saying: This was never okay.
The Fear of Becoming “Like Them”
Most survivors I walk with admit this: “I’m afraid my rage makes me like my abuser.”
Let me settle this for you: it does not.
- Their violence was choice. They planned, manipulated, and executed harm.
- Our rage is response. It’s the body’s way of saying, Never again.
Your rage is not their evil reborn, it’s your humanity roaring back to life.
Righteous Anger vs. Destructive Rage
Scripture says: “Be angry, and sin not” (Ephesians 4:26).
Which tells me this: anger itself is not sin. Jesus Himself overturned tables in the temple. That wasn’t bitterness—it was sacred anger in defense of what was holy.
The line between righteous anger and destructive rage is not always neat, but it is clear:
- Righteous anger rises to defend, protect, expose, or heal. It fuels boundaries. It calls injustice by name. It propels us into action.
- Destructive rage seeks only to scorch everything in sight—including you.
One is a weapon against darkness. The other, a tool of destruction. Survivors—you already know too well what destruction looks like. That’s not who you are.
The Myth of the Perfect Survivor
Somewhere along the way, society decided the “good” survivors are the ones who remain quiet, unconfrontational, grateful, gentle, and “over it.”
The lie: anger makes you bitter or less healed.
The truth: anger, when stewarded, is one of the most powerful tools you have for protecting yourself and others.
How I Learned to Live With Rage
I stopped trying to suffocate my rage. Instead, I started listening to it.
When it rises now, I ask:
- What truth is this rage trying to tell me?
- What injustice is it pointing me to?
- Where does this fire need to burn—so I don’t?
Rage became a compass, not a curse. It led me back to my voice, my boundaries, my purpose.
Sacred Rage vs. Toxic Bitterness
Sacred rage burns in alignment with truth. It moves you toward healing and justice.
Toxic bitterness traps you in resentment. It keeps you stuck in the story, replaying the harm, never resolving.
One liberates. The other imprisons.
Learning the difference is part of the healing journey.
The Fear of Being “Too Much”
Oh, I know this one. I lived there for far too long.
Your voice may still carry that weight if you were taught that “good girls” or “good believers” don’t get angry.
I’ve been told by relatives, strangers, even fellow believers, that pressing charges and speaking out made me unforgiving, vengeful, and a poor representation of faith.
But I learned this: standing up for what is right sometimes means standing alone.
And let me remind you—
You are not responsible for pacifying those too uncomfortable to face the truth.
The lie: anger = bitterness = bad survivor.
The truth: anger, stewarded well, is fuel for boundaries, advocacy, and healing.
Feeling It Without Being Consumed by It
Here’s where we start:
- Notice when you feel the heat rising.
- Pause and name what the anger is pointing to (a crossed boundary? a reopened wound?).
- Allow the emotion to move through your body—walk, journal, pray, cry.
- Decide what action, if any, to take from clarity, not just heat.
- Ask yourself: What do I need in this moment?
Your Takeaway
You don’t have to choose between being healed and being angry.
You can be both healing and furious.
Because your anger is a sign that the part of you that knows you deserved better is still alive. And God can handle your anger.
Your anger doesn’t disqualify you from healing, it may be the doorway to it.
The same fire that burns against injustice can forge the boundaries that protect your future.
The same rage that says “never again” can become the voice that saves someone else.
Your anger isn’t your enemy. Your silence was.
And now that you’re awake, now that you’re feeling, now that you’re refusing to numb what must be acknowledged—
You’re not too much. You’re finally enough.
Enough to feel.
Enough to speak.
Enough to stand.
Enough to say, no more.
Welcome to the power of your righteous anger, Disruptor.
Use it well.
Journey 2 Free Original
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