Week 5: Wrath

Holy Rage as a Liberator

I want to begin this week with a confession: I am done pretending I’m not angry.

Not the shallow irritation of long queues or slow Wi-Fi—but a deep, ancient, bone-deep rage. The kind that boils your blood and pulses through generations. The kind that lives viscerally in the lining of your womb. The kind that once burned witches and now shames outspoken women with words like bossy, hysterical, or too much.

But Wrath—so often demonized—is not the problem. The problem is unprocessed, misdirected, hijacked rage.

I have never perceived anger itself to be a sin. I feel it’s a signal. A very potent one. One that tells us when something sacred has been violated. When our soul contracts are broken, and when boundaries have been crossed. Disrespected one too many times. It also tells us when truth is being strangled by politeness.

But when anger is denied, suppressed, or turned inward—it festers. And that’s when wrath, the so-called deadly sin, is born.