Every man’s anger is a test to a woman’s power. Or so I thought.
I went to a therapist, a gym because I thought it was me, until I let it go.
It wasn’t me, who was responsible for such fire. No, it wasn’t me this time. And it never was. And yet in a way it was to find myself.
My own power began to scare me as I dug deep. Real deep.
So the vulnerability bared my emotional needs to the core. And then the anger went away. When I began to be authentic and honest, creating boundaries based on me.
No, it was real. And he responded like I was a queen.