The Companion 021: Losing my temper
When is it acceptable for women to be angry?
I have a temper. It rears its head in very specific circumstances, most commonly on the football pitch, and not with any particular regularity. I got angry last summer, for example, when my friend spotted a man photographing her in a skimpy outfit on his phone on our way back from Notting Hill Carnival. I stomped over, called him a prick, and demanded he delete the pictures, which he did, and with the help of a few others, forced him off the train at the next stop. I was furious on her behalf at the sexual harassment, and it fuelled me to be able to take action.
Righteous anger, I have understood for a long time, almost always feels somewhat good. Yes, that person did intentionally try to hurt me or someone close to me, and therefore I can hold them accountable, and make them see the error of their ways, force them to listen. I see it at protests sometimes: fury spilling from the mouths of speakers. Spitting, delicious anger that is channelled outward, making us all feel more, care more about the atrocities happening on our doorsteps or, as in the case of Palestine, over 2000 miles away. But when does righteous anger spill over into something more damaging?
“At protests, fury spills from the mouths of speakers; spitting, delicious anger that is channelled outward, making us all feel more, care more about the atrocities happening”
This past weekend at football, screaming at someone that they were a ‘dickhead’ after they fouled me, I did have a brief, piercing moment of clarity. As one of my teammates apologised to a player on my behalf, I wondered what impression do the people who I love, my teammates, have of me in these moments? Do they think of me as less kind, less safe, because they have seen me absolutely, foot-stampingly furious? Is that impression ultimately a more honest, truthful reflection of who I am? Are the friends I have at football perhaps the only ones who don’t see me through the mirror of people pleasing that I work hard to maintain with most, not all, of my other relationships? And perhaps most importantly, is this anger as righteous as I think it is, or is it just a desperate outlet?
I’m fascinated by the fact there are so few spaces in which one can be safely angry. I don’t really abide by the idea that one shouldn’t moderate one’s behaviour on a day-to-day basis to make other people more comfortable. I don’t want to be the victim of someone else’s anger if I haven’t done anything to warrant it. I don’t want my reaction to upset to spill over into anger because I think it usually causes more harm than good. I can’t recollect a single occasion as an adult where I have ever shouted at a friend or been so annoyed with them that visible anger has felt like the best option. If I didn’t play football, I would probably think I didn’t really have a temper at all. But clearly I do, and I have to wonder if therefore in my life there is a necessity to find spaces where I can be angry without damaging other people.
“There are so few spaces in which one can be safely angry”
Whether or not it’s healthy for football to be one of those spaces is something I’m trying to figure out. When the English footballer Lauren James stood on the back of Nigeria’s Michelle Alozie during the Women’s World Cup, she was immediately condemned (and in short shrift, became the subject of vicious racist abuse). It was a foolish, malicious move from James, but I don’t begrudge her entirely. I understand that feeling intimately — adrenaline rushing, the almost out-of-body bristling, nerves aflame, the sense that you are entirely and completely justified in moving your body in reaction to the attack that you’ve just experienced. When you’re playing you’re already on high alert because you have to be, and when something goes wrong it feels much greater than it would normally. As former England player Jill Scott said after she was caught on camera calling another player a “fucking prick” during the 2022 Euros, “Once I cross over that white line, I feel like I have to be angry and emotional to get my performance out.”
Even so, it’s very common that, five to ten minutes after an altercation (on the amateur football pitch at least), we’ll be apologising to each other for swearing or pushing or pulling hair and shaking hands. I would guess that most athletes have felt that anger, that rippling, uncontrollable sensation, and give each other a little leeway because of it. We let it fade into the heady ether of sweat, blood and tears that is an average match.
It feels honest and refreshing in a way, to see women behave like this. It’s a far cry from the way we’ve traditionally been socialised to deal with conflict. When Serena Williams was criticised for her behaviour during a 2018 match against Naomi Osaka, the reporter Lindsay Gibbs told Bustle that many female athletes relate “to that moment of being told they were being ridiculous for being angry, and having their anger policed in this really intense way”. As women, we’re taught to repress anger and whisper about it, instead of dealing with it upfront. Despite all that we endure, and the fact that statistically across the world women feel more angry than men, there are still expectations that we should move with grace. When we don’t, our anger is often ridiculed or penalised more harshly than it should be.
“Despite all that we endure, there are still expectations that we should move with grace. When we don’t, our anger is often ridiculed or penalised more harshly than it should be”
Even so though, this week I feel like I did cross a line from righteous into unnecessary verbal aggression. There are odd dynamics at play on the field, especially when you’re playing mostly against white women. This idea that black women are more aggressive, stronger, infallible, sometimes means that the referees don’t call in our favour, which, at least for me, exacerbates the sense that I’m being hard done by and therefore justified in my anger. But I think perhaps the key is rather than letting the anger get the best of me and verbalising it, I need to start channelling more of that anger into my runs, into my crosses, into helping the team win.
At the end of the day, even though something is refreshing about the idea that the people who know me through football get to see a warts-and-all version of my personality, the type of teammate I want to be, the type of friend I want to be, isn’t someone who loses their rag without good cause; and while someone pulling my braids or breaking my teammate’s arm (real-world examples) might be justifiable causes for a touch of anger, a little grab to the football shirt probably shouldn’t be.
I love my anger, my capability to summon rage, because it has helped me in situations to stand strong against malignancy. I am fighting against feeling ashamed of it, as so many women do. I just never want to let it get the best of me. As with anything powerful, it should only be wielded for good.
Suggested reading (I’ve not read these ones, but they sound great and have been added to my to-read list):
Rage Becomes Her: The Power of Women's Anger, by Soraya Chemaly
Good and Mad: The Revolutionary Power of Women's Anger, by Rebecca Traister
Eloquent Rage by Brittney Cooper
Mostly unrelated, but re the point about not always getting refereeing decisions, I've noticed how Bunny Shaw & Mayra Ramirez tend to be refereed in the WSL. Let's just say I think there's a ton of bias against them, and it feels as if they need to near-have a leg amputated for the ref to give them anything.