Exploring Mars

It's been a more-than-once occasion where I have informed someone of my star sign - Aries - and they have sucked in a breath and winced. Often this is accompanied with a soft "ooh", as though I admitted to a terrible misjudgment on my part. They are often people who are much more knowledgeable than I on all matters zodiac - I cannot tell you who I am compatible with or who I would clash with, other than the precedent determined by my past encounters. ...To borrow a phrase, it's all Greek to me.

I am vaguely aware of the backstory of Aries from mythology. And I own a few examples of zodiac paraphernalia, which largely serve to entertain me as I find it really humorous that all Aries merchandise is littered with descriptions like "bossy", "assertive", "aggressive". A magnet I have depicts a ram on a skateboard with low-cut jeans, skating over the word "hostile".

It would explain the teeth-sucking, would it not? Because most Aries descriptions I've seen have described us - as fire signs - as sources of a pool of rage. That we can be good leaders and responsible but that we have short tempers and are quick to attack. It's almost comical in its exaggeration.

However... I do see a reflection of myself in there. I have a lot of anger. I don't seem it to most people, I can be very friendly and soft-spoken, a petite woman who doesn't take up much space. But it's there, beneath the surface, at any perceived attack. And it's not just a stereotype of my zodiac sign, it's an expectation of any small woman - that she's feisty and fiery. If most people knew I had a lot of Irish DNA, the stereotypes would pile up.

But I haven't always been so angry. When I was a child, it was not a problem. There's a photo-frame in my childhood room that holds a written series of adjectives - I remember it from my second grade class, where we wrote down descriptors of our classmates anonymously and the teacher compiled them into these sweet little images. Words that were used to describe me include creative, kind, playful, sweet. Never angry, or even sassy or assertive.

I do remember an incident in elementary school - I remember my friends, all of whom were male, on a play-set during recess. It was a bright summer day and I wanted to play with them like we normally did. But they declared that day that no girls were allowed on the play set and that as a girl, I was therefore banned. I remember feeling so hurt that I ended up shouting - and because of the shouting, I ended up in the guidance counselor's office for weeks. The counselor had this little giraffe hand puppet named Dusty, and I vividly remember his big googly eyes staring blankly at the ceiling as my counselor's voice, deeper than usual, asked, "Why did you get so mad at those boys?"

Maybe this was a sign of my anger, my inclination to vocally defend myself. For most of my developing years, I didn't indulge in such acting out, I learned it would get me in the counselor's office. I'd be the target of questions like, "What's wrong with you? Why do you feel this way?"

My anger really developed in my teenage years, which isn't uncommon. Hormones and the stress of societal expectations of who and what you should be... none of this is new. As a very petite woman, I was often informed by adult strangers what they thought about my body, what they found lacking about it. How easy it would be for someone to kidnap me, murder me, and how I must be informed of how easy it would be. How it was a shame that I looked the way I did. I usually forced a polite face to them and brought the anger home to my parents.

Maybe the anger started then...

Maybe it's from the groping touches and complete disregard for my voice. Maybe it started from the overriding of my opinions and the assertions that my intelligence was lesser. The shoving, the hands on my shoulders, and the spit on my face.

Sometimes I feel so very small. And the anger was a way to defend myself. To be difficult, to prove that if they wanted to mess with me they'd have to work for it. And a lot of times, it's worked.

But if there's something I've learned, after years of anger.

It's exhausting.

It burns you out from the inside. It leaves you sad and tired. It makes you feel like you're alone, like you'll never be understood.

And I'm so tired of feeling that way.

The Aries symbol is one of short-tempered moodiness and strong aggression. It's also the symbol of courage, leadership, responsibility. But I don't care. It's not my fate.

I'm letting the anger go.