Vachon Imagined

“Be aggressive!”

It was a cheer I would do just before I’d be placed on top of the pyramid, throwing my arms up and shouting, “Go Rams!”

Of course, the Rams in this case were a bunch of fourth- and fifth-grade boys who would eventually become football players, dads, coaches, and engineers—some of whom would have absolutely nothing to do with football.

But they had emotion.

They always had emotion.

To be human is to feel. To emote. To be sensitive.

And when we build walls of anger around that sensitivity, we don’t feel.

We defend.

That’s where aggression can get misplaced.

Not wrong.

Misplaced.

I loved cheering for the Rams in my red-and-white cheerleading uniform, by the way. And the lace bow headband I fought my mother over at every possible opportunity.

But the truth is, cheering for aggression meant very little to me then.

I was cheering for something I would later have to understand.

Because years later, as a grown woman in a professional environment, I met aggression without my pom-poms.

Suddenly, sun had turned to fear.

And fear of fear had turned into:

“Oh shit.”

“I don’t like the way this makes me feel.”

Aggression is part of being human. It’s something we even admire.

Imagine Usain Bolt without aggression.

Simone Biles without aggression.

Imagine electricity without force.

We’d have nothing to cheer for, nothing to marvel at—and I’d have no lamp by which to write these words.

Aggression is energy.

The question is what you do with it.

Fear complicates that.

Fear isn’t something you toss out with a quick, “Okay, that’s done.”

We are often afraid of fear itself.

Someone speaks aggressively to us, and instead of remaining calm, we meet them there.

We get in their face.

We escalate.

And the world will often tell us we’re right.

There are entire cultures built around that response.

Be louder.

Be tougher.

Don’t let anyone disrespect you.

Strike first.

Defend yourself.

Such is the way of the world.

But something changes when you stop fearing yourself.

When you know who you are, aggression becomes a tool instead of a reflex.

You know when to use it.

And when not to.

At work, when people are discussing ideas and brainstorming concepts?

Probably not the time.

People don’t think particularly well with a proverbial gun to their head.

On the court?

Absolutely.

Chasing your child after they’ve run into the street?

Run.

Be aggressive.

Protect what matters.

But in conversation?

Not necessary.

And in certain circles, it’s downright disrespectful.

The difference is awareness.

You can be powerful without being threatening.

You can be direct without being cruel.

You can have fire without setting everyone else on fire.

And once you learn who you are and accept all of yourself, every part of you has a place.

The anger.

The fear.

The sensitivity.

The aggression.

The tenderness.

None of it needs to be exiled.

None of it needs to be defended against.

You become awake to yourself.

And when you’re no longer judging yourself, you have less need to judge everyone else.

Because fear has a way of making us blind.

Blind to the possibility that we might be giving what we’re getting.

Too proud to sit with it.

Too busy to see it.

Too aggressive to recognize how much protection we’re actually asking for.

But when you stop being afraid of yourself, you stop needing to fight every battle.

You know when to raise your voice.

You know when to lower it.

You know when to push.

You know when to soften.

You know when to be aggressive.

And you know when to put the pom-poms down.

That’s not weakness.

That’s mastery.