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The Real Reasons So Many Women Are Filled With Rage (And Why Nobody Should Be Shocked By It)

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oppression of women

This energy will transform the world, and it will be a trial by fire.

By this point, we should all be able to acknowledge the fact that something has always been criminally — karmically —  wrong with the treatment, anthropological programming, and oppression of women and girls throughout history. We've heard the new testimonies of abuse, and we've seen the #Metoo movement become a thing, which is just another of the sensitive cherries on the top of the molten lava cake known as women's rage.

#Metoo got traction and attention, and if it ends up being a thing that has real meaning, then that thing will blow open the gigantic Pandora's box filled with the raw, angry and pungent stink of "This is not a fad. This is us. Pay attention NOW."

What is women's rage? I can tell you first what it isn't. Women's rage is not a thing that can be understood or explained by any man, no matter how great or compassionate or understanding he is. No man can ever know the reality of women's rage. Ever.

That's it, point blank. Men can feel for us, but they can never know. And I have always suspected that, since the beginning of time, the inability to really "know" what women feel, mixed with men's curious and almost unnatural lack of empathy for us, is exactly what has created such extensive male resentment for women.


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They do not understand us, and so, they try to subdue, control, condemn and own us. We are the devil they don't know, and for all of time, they have tried to keep that devil in the dungeon. 

To be a woman is to experience this from the moment of birth. To be a woman you will come into the world and right from the very beginning, you will see that the only thing that prevents you from simply being all you can be is another human being with a larger muscular system than you. 

Those muscles? These physical attributes that show stronger on men's bodies than on women's? Those are the real guns. 

Think about it. It's not men's intelligence, or superiority, or cunning, or cleverness that keeps us down; it's their physicality. Because it's damned hard to move through a world where you are constantly being threatened with the idea that you will be beaten to a pulp for not being some man's dream concept of a woman. 

It's hard to move through a world while being groped, fondled, made fun of, exploited, poked, sized up, condemned, ogled, passed around, laughed at, assumed to be weak, assumed to be compliant, dressed up, "liberated," worshipped, slapped, pinched, judged, shamed, belittled, raped and kissed goodnight after we've laid there receiving our sh*tty sex of the night, with semen inside us, and a fresh new, scalding UTI to let us know we've done a good job.

Women's rage is what forms when we sit back and watch our "sexual liberation" fall accordingly into the slots that please men the most. Men have no say in our freedom; yet we've somehow swallowed the lie that we're "free," even though our freedom was designed by men, to please men, only.

Being an intelligent woman and simultaneously having to endure the endless praise that gets heaped on to smarmy "visionaries" like the late Hugh Hefner, or any other male who has given us the magnanimous gift of opening the doors to our liberation is enough to make any woman with a brain want to vomit ironically.

You didn't liberate us; you handed us another trick. You told us we were beautiful and powerful when we took off our clothes, but the message we smart women took away was that if we didn't adopt this new "liberation" scheme, we'd be beaten by you. Again.

Men just found out that they like strong women, you know, as a fetish. Men don't want women to "really" think we have power; they want us to kid ourselves into thinking we have power so that we'll look badass and iconic as they objectify us yet again.

We will design our own sexuality and liberation, thank you. Keep your muscle guns to yourself.

Women's rage is the strongest force of revolution on Earth right now. It bypasses all other movements, because it is older and includes all women, of all ages, sizes, religions, races and nationalities. This is huger than money.

Women's rage started in the cave. Do you really think that whole "pulling the woman around by the hair" thing went un-resented or un-remembered? Nah, that sh*t made us mad back then, because we knew then that the only thing men had on us was physical brawn and we could do nothing about it.

Brawn is the cage we came to be locked in, and boiling, seething, toxic, monstrous, ravenous, overwhelming RAGE is the only thing that can free us. This is not a job for Zen.

Being a woman is like being a unicorn with its head stuck between wrought-iron bars: We know we're magic, we just can't break free of the bars placed there by those we'd like to trust, but can't: men.

But here's the kicker: We're not waiting for men to free us, as they don't own us. We are not waiting for men at all. But they have confined us with their mighty musculature and somehow, over time, women have come to think this is the only way to be. It's not.

What is women's rage?

Being approached endless numbers of times on Facebook by men who assume that, because I'm an artist who creates a lot of sexually-charged work, I must be "sexually liberated according to what men fantasize about" and therefore just DYING to send them naked photos of myself, because that's why they write me: to see if I'll get naked. As that's what "sexually free" women do, right?

We sit around waiting for total strangers to assault us with their desire to see us naked. F*ck you. It's art and I'm an artist, moron. Not an invitation to my private life. Is nothing special to you? Does it all just end up with you rubbing your pecker? Leave me alone. Love the art. Masturbate without me.


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Funny thing is, they only "hear" me when I say I have a boyfriend. It's the "boyfriend" that gets the respect, not me. Telling a man to "Go to hell, creep" means nothing to him. But tell him there's another man involved, and suddenly, he takes it seriously. Can't soil another man's turf, right?

(A note: A few years ago, one man wrote me in a similar vein, and after I told him I wanted nothing to do with him, he said, "You know, I'm still deciding if I want to [have sex with] you or not...")

Women's rage is being raped and beaten and having to put the emphasis on the word RAPE, as opposed to BEATEN, because being beaten isn't enough to have people give a sh*t. And then realizing that the only reason they suddenly care is because the word RAPE titillates them.

Women's rage is not knowing how to show that you DO love men, while simultaneously acknowledging what is so very wrong with how they've treated us over the centuries. There is nothing more off-base and unfair than being thought of as a man-hater, simply because you honor yourself as a woman and have decided to be vocal about it.

We who love men want to love men — sexually and romantically. There's a difference between standing up for one's self and being a hater. I'm no hater. I love men. I just also happen to love being a woman who is proud to be strong, courageous and willing to speak my mind.

Women's rage is what happens when you're sitting in your car and you get rear-ended by a man in another car and then another man (on foot) decides to come by to "help." The two men then tag-team each other, even though they are total strangers, and mutually, they both decide that somehow the cute, "hysterical" girl (me) couldn't have been a victim to the rear-ending, but that she somehow caused it and is at fault. "Stupid woman!" they say with their eyes and their sneers. "Dumb b*tch."

Women's rage is what happens when smart women see female Trump supporters.

Women's rage is present wherever there is beauty, because we women are constantly reminded that our own beauty is a fleeting thing, and that once we hit a certain age or weight, we are useless to men, hence making us useless as human beings.

Women's rage is energy. And it has been gathering momentum since the beginning of time — angrier and angrier, every single day. This energy can no longer be sustained as it is; it's too hot, too bright. This energy will transform the world, and apparently it will be a trial by fire. There will be bodies. There will be hell to pay. This is not a trend.

Good men of the world: Thank you for trying, and thank you for supporting us, but right now, you just can't win, even if you are on our side. It's all just a little too rage-fueled for your well-intended mansplaining, even if you really are trying to help.

We women will do this job on our own. We will save us, and rage will be our engine.

And please, for the love of whatever it is you do hold dear, don't come back with, "Yeah, but women are pigs too, sometimes!" It's not the same; you KNOW it's not the same and it never will be the same.

The thing is, we silly b*tches? We're all PMS-ing out of our minds right now, our female hysteria is through the roof, and if we get pissed, we may smother you with our fishy-smelling vaginas, our need to nail down a man and marry him, and our non-stop gabbing. Validate us with jewelry!

Golly, I hope I don't offend any man in power out there, just in case I may need him someday to advance my career as a writer. 


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Dori Hartley is primarily a portrait artist. As an essayist and a journalist, she can be read in The Huffington Post, ParentDishYourTango, The Daily Beast, Psychology Today, More Magazine, XOJaneMyDaily and The Stir. Her art books ‘Beauty’, ‘Antler Velvet’, and 'Mads Mikkelsen: Portraits of the Actor' are all available on Amazon.

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