Sometimes, I feel like I swallowed a dragon. A big, angry one, the kind that settles somewhere inside me, falls asleep for a while… and then suddenly wakes up and comes out. And I’m left wondering: what was that? How did that even get inside me? My throat feels torn from yelling, and afterwards, I become smaller and smaller. My fire turns into smoke, the air I breathe becomes heavy, polluted. And then I start thinking: how did I get here, and how do I leave? But the truth is — I can’t, not immediately. I have to wait for the air to clear, for everything to settle, because nothing new can begin in that kind of air. Something has to end first.
Crackling, like popcorn. Triggered by something — or nothing at all. And I keep asking myself: can I at least choose when and how the dragon comes out? Because if it has to… could it come out differently?
What am I actually trying to say through that anger? That I’m strong? That I’m dangerous? That no one can mess with me? Or is it something else? Maybe it’s that I’m hurt, that I’m exhausted, that I don’t feel seen, that something matters to me. I notice the dragon shows up most when I feel like my values are being challenged, when I feel disrespected. But does it really have to look like this?
I always thought that as an adult, I would master my emotions, be grounded, calm. And I try. But sometimes… I let everything shake me: words, tone, a look, exhaustion. What’s interesting is how easily I offer understanding to others. It’s okay when a mother loses it sometimes, when she’s overwhelmed and sends everything to hell for a moment. But when I’m that mother? Why don’t I offer the same understanding to myself?
Maybe the question isn’t how to get rid of the dragon. Maybe the question is: what woke it up? What meaning did I give to the situation? A child refusing pajamas — is it disobedience or just play? A partner’s response — is it disrespect or just exhaustion? We don’t react to reality. We react to what we believe it means.
And somewhere in that realization, a new desire appears. Not to get rid of the dragon, not to silence it or pretend it isn’t there, but to stop letting it take over completely, to have a choice, to feel the dragon rising… and still respond differently. I don’t want to stop feeling anger. I don’t want to lose that fire. But I don’t want it to turn into something that burns everything around me either.
And maybe that’s where the real strength is — not in silencing the dragon, but in choosing how it shows up. In learning that you can feel the fire fully, and still respond with intention.