The Stratagem’s Archive

Category: Psychology

  • When a Raise Feels Like a Golden Prison

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    A 30% raise sounds great—until you realize you’re giving up your body, sleep, and peace just to keep the job that’s breaking you.

    Has anyone really calculated how much their work is worth to them when their lives: body, soul, mind, recreational activities, relationships, and personal projects are taken out of the equation?

    — The Archivist

    How Much of You are Giving Up in Exchange?

    We had another work meeting today.

    Like in most of those meetings, I wasn’t fully paying attention. Not out of disrespect, but just pure exhaustion and never eating breakfast because I have to choose between sleep or food. Yeah, this isn’t a sustainable habit, but it’s been one I’ve known for most of my working life.

    Anyways, I’m barely half-listening to what’s being discussed while trying not to mentally spiral over how tired I am or what tasks are going to break my back next. That is… until one of my coworkers asked me about the 30% raise said to be scheduled to happen this October.

    This immediately got my attention. I thought to myself; “30%? Since when are we jumping from single digit raises and into the double digits?”

    Naturally, the question everyone started asking was: “Is this for just the higher-ups or for us too?” Because for the last 4 years, most of us on the warehouse floor usually got between 3-6% raises each October, if we’re lucky it went through. And those felt generous at the time—until now, when we’re suddenly dangling a much bigger number.

    I did the math. If it does apply to me, I’d go from earning $23/hour to about $29.90/hour. Those earning $20.53/hour would jump to around $28.12/hour.

    Sounds good, right?

    More money means more security and more opportunity to pay off debt faster, build my emergency savings, contribute to my Roth IRA, support causes I care about, buy things I want just because, or buy something for my family.

    Except… I didn’t feel excited. I felt numb. I got suspicious. What was the catch? That was the question my mind was leaning into, even though my coworkers all sounded excited and buzzing around me. I felt like the odd one out, but you can’t blame me for not sharing their excitement.

    You want to know why I wasn’t including myself in the excitement? Because the truth is, I’m not sure I can keep doing this — raise or not.

    Update:

    It was too good to be true; seemed that enough of my coworkers heard 30%, but it was the usual 3% raise instead. A lot of people were VERY disappointed, but the numbers are no longer absurdly high, and all is right again.

    What Am I Giving Up By “Earning More”

    I’ve been at this warehouse job for 4 years now and I’m turning 29 this year. And while I’ve gotten stronger and smarter in some ways, I’ve also gotten tired. Not just sleepy-tired where a good 8+ hours of rest could remedy. No, not that kind.

    I’m Soul-crushing-tired.

    • I’m sleeping in my car before shifts just to get parking at work.
    • I’ve seen the physical trainer at work more times than I want to admit because my body is starting to show the cracks.
    • I can’t sleep peacefully anymore. I wake up already drained.
    • My back hurts to the point pain shoots down my left leg like electricity is coursing through my veins.
    • My energy is non-existent. My mind doesn’t stop spinning, even when I try to rest.

    And the things that make life feel worth living? They’ve started falling away.

    My hobbies. My curiosity. My ability to try new things. Maintaining my relationships with my family, that kind of thing. While typing this post, I’ve caught myself resting in front of my iPad keyboard now and again, trying to force myself awake and staring at the clock screaming at me that I’ll be getting less sleep. Again.

    Even basic rest is being sabotaged despite my efforts. Everything I called my own is now pushed to the side so I can keep showing up, day after day, for a job that’s breaking me in slow motion.

    More Money = Less Me

    Here’s the thing: I know that money is important, I get that part intimately. I have debt. I have future plans. I’m not allergic to the idea of stability. But lately, I’ve started to wonder:

    What’s the point of more money if it comes at the cost of myself?

    I’ve already lost time. Lost parts of my health. Lost entire evenings and weekends to fatigue and dread. How much more am I supposed to give?

    How much is my body worth?

    How much is my mental clarity worth?

    How much of my potential am I supposed to sacrifice for the illusion of being “secure”?

    A Choice That Doesn’t Feel Like One

    At one point, our job’s big boss once said during a personal meeting with her some weeks ago:

    “If we(frontline workers) choose to stay with the company, great. But if we choose to leave, that’s up to us too.”

    That’s easy to say when you’re on the other side of the floor.

    Sure, it’s “my choice.” But when you’re trying to pay rent, get out of debt, save for emergencies, and survive in a world that gets more expensive by the day — is it really a choice?

    It feels more like a corner I’ve been painted into. One where the door says freedom, but it’s locked by bills, fear, and exhaustion.

    The Part-Time Job I Don’t Want to Lose

    I also have a part-time job at a rage room and I actually enjoy it: this job makes me feel like a person, not a machine. I’ve been given a $1/hour raise within not even a few months since starting by my own merit, not out of obligation like a lateral raise. One where one of the owners told me, with certainty, that he doesn’t see me quitting or being fired any time soon.

    But with the increasing demands of my full-time job — the possibilities of earlier start times, later end times, and higher volume in my work future — I might have to quit that part-time job just to keep up. And I hate that.

    Because in trying to “do the responsible thing,” I’m giving up something that gives me energy and meaning. Again, the tradeoff doesn’t feel fair and I hate it with a passion.

    I Don’t Want to Climb the Corporate Ladder

    Some people might suggest I try to move up the ladder in my company and aim for a better paying position.

    But I’ve looked up that ladder — and I don’t want to.

    More responsibility. More hours. More expectations. More sacrifice. Same machine. Different uniform.

    I’m not trying to climb higher into something that’s already draining me.

    So, Now What?

    Honestly, I don’t know.

    I’m stuck in the same mental loop a lot of working people are in:

    “I need this job… but I’m not sure I can survive it.”

    A 30% raise sounds great. But it’s still a prison if I can’t live fully. If I can’t be well. If I’m giving up everything that makes me have to pick work over my life just to earn more, then I can’t be the only one feeling like this is crazy, right?

    So maybe that’s the real question:

    What are we working for if we’re too broken to enjoy any of it?

    One and All Who Made it Through

    If you made it this far — thank you.

    Whether this is your first time here or you’ve quietly read my posts before, just know this: I see you. You don’t have to comment. You don’t have to share. You don’t have to explain anything about where you’re at in life right now, unless you want to.

    If you’ve ever sat alone in a parking lot before your shift, traded your energy for a paycheck, or wondered if surviving is all there is — you’re not weird, broken, or too much.

    You’re human. And you’re not alone here.

    Thanks for reading.

    If someday you feel like speaking, you’re always welcome to. I read and respond to every comment whenever I can, and sharing helps other people find this space too. But if today all you have is quiet recognition — that’s more than enough.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    The Moment I Stopped Waiting for Permission

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    Feel free to also check out my newsletter (Letters from the Void Newsletter) or my downloadable PDF (Thank You + Free Download) here as a thank you from me to you.

    Until next time, I’ll see you all later in the archives.

  • The Moment I Stopped Waiting for Permission

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    When Did You Stop Playing It Safe?

    Or are you still waiting for someone, other than yourself, to give you the green light?

    It hit me in the bathroom — the kind of thought that slips in when the world is quiet and you’re standing there, catching your own reflection in bad lighting. I thought back to my situation and asked:

    “Why did I stop playing it safe?”

    I had my own reasons for betting on myself and permit myself to build something from nothing.

    I used to think I couldn’t start anything: No degree. No polished resume. No mentors. No fancy title or job that would validate me.

    I wasn’t a writer, but I was just someone with a lot of feelings and nowhere to put them. I thought I had to earn a voice before using it.

    I Played It Safe For Years

    And then one day, I got tired of my own silence.

    No big lightning bolt. No overnight transformation. Just… the simmering realization that no one was coming to rescue me or hand me a permission slip. So I stopped waiting.

    I started this blog not because I had a plan or a niche, but because I had nothing to lose. I was angry. Tired. Fed up with life passing me by while I sat on the bench, hoping someone would pick me for their team.

    I picked myself instead.

    This Isn’t Happy Hour — It’s 2AM Hour.

    My blog isn’t curated for “happy hour” energy.

    It’s not the shiny, filtered, “I’ve got it all figured out” performance people put on at networking events or in the comment sections of self-help threads.

    This space is for 2am honesty.

    You know the kind — when your defenses are down, the mask slips off, and someone finally says,

    “Actually? I’m not okay. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m still here.”

    If this blog is a bar, I’m the bartender. I don’t drink, and I’ve never worked in a bar — but I’m here, wiping the counter down with stories from a life I didn’t think anyone would want to hear about.

    The bar’s mostly quiet.

    A couple of regulars lurk in the corners, reading without saying much.

    The jukebox is broken.

    But I keep talking, just in case someone walks in needing to hear something you only say when the lights are low and nobody’s performing.

    I Don’t Have a Niche — I Have a Pulse

    I’ve written and will write about:

    • What it’s like to work in a rage room while living in a body full of pain.
    • Paying off $15K in debt working two jobs, while trying not to let my jobs own me.
    • Learning to code again after a decade of shame and bad experiences.
    • What happens when my inner critic gets too loud to ignore.
    • Trying to trust AI to help me build, without losing my voice to it.
    • Taking life advice from video games more than self-help books.
    • And much more.

    I don’t have clean answers. I’m not here to teach or preach. I’m just writing to remember that I’m alive — and to see if anyone out here feels the same things I do, even if they call it something different.

    So I’ll Ask You:

    When did you stop playing it safe?

    Or maybe a better question is —

    What would you do if you stopped waiting to be ready?

    Would you finally start that blog, that painting, that email, that messy first draft of something you’ve been hiding behind “someday”?

    Would you speak up, even if your voice shakes?

    Would you stop waiting for someone to crown you and say, “Okay, now you’re allowed to exist out loud”?

    You don’t have to reply back — even silently nodding along is good enough because you’ve been in this strange in-between as I have.

    I don’t know who’s going to read this. Maybe no one. Maybe just a handful of quiet people passing through like ghosts.

    But if you’re here, if you’ve made it this far…

    This is your invitation to stop playing it safe.

    You’re allowed to be messy. To begin. To exist on your own terms.

    You don’t need credentials to tell your story.

    You just need to be brave enough to speak — even if it’s only to yourself at first.

    I lit a flare, wondering if there’s anyone else who see’s.

    If you see it from across the void, I see you, and you are welcome here anytime.

    —

    The Stratagem’s Archive

    P.S: Hey there. If you’ve missed my other posts, you can find the newer ones here down below. Or, if you’d like, you can check out my newsletter Letters from the Void Newsletter, here or check out my little PDF manifesto, Thank You + Free Download, here as a thank you for making it here to the end.

    Otherwise, everyone, I will see you all later in the archives.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    The Whisper of a Far Off Promise — of Freedom, Choice, and Rest.

  • Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    When Silence Has Claws.

    For years prior, I would wonder what it would be like to sit in silence. Not just, “oh, this is rather quiet”, kind of quiet.

    No music. No podcasts. No background noise to hold me together.

    Pure silence.

    Just me, my steering wheel, and everything I thought I’d buried deep enough to never hear again.

    At first, I tried to talk to myself out loud — about the weather, what I was making for dinner, the errands I needed to run. Anything to keep the thoughts at bay.

    But the silence didn’t care.

    It waited.

    And the more I filled that space with meaningless conversation, the more the real voices — the ones I keep locked up — started to rise.

    “You’re a failure.”

    “You’ve done nothing with your life.”

    “You’ll be forgotten just like all the other nobodies.”

    “Why do you even try?”

    They didn’t whisper.

    They screamed.

    And eventually, I stopped pretending I didn’t hear them.

    I stopped trying to talk over them.

    I gave them the mic.

    And what came out was venom. Acid. Grief. Rage.

    Years of things I never said out loud.

    Years of thoughts that weren’t allowed in the daylight.

    Years of versions of myself clawing at the walls, trying to be heard.

    I hated every word I spoke in that silence.

    But I kept speaking.

    Because for the first time, I wasn’t censoring myself for anyone.

    I wasn’t lying about how I was doing.

    I wasn’t putting a polite filter on survival.

    I gave myself a deadline since I was 12 years old. All because of a gaming mechanic from a game called, “Dragon Age: Origins” (BioWare), where, when you became something called a, “Grey Warden”, you’d have 20 years left to live.

    I wish I could explain why I held onto that idea since then — I don’t know why myself, but it’s been with me for that long. My 20 years draws closer.

    By 32, if life doesn’t feel like it’s worth it — if I’m still drowning and nothing has shifted — I’d end it.

    I wouldn’t leave a mess.

    I’ve already made sure everything I own passes legally to my parents.

    And then I’d be gone.

    Not out of drama.

    Not for attention.

    Just tiredness.

    Quiet, heavy tiredness that no nap can fix.

    But the thing is — I’m also afraid of following through.

    Afraid of how fast it’s moving.

    Afraid of how quickly I’ll get to that deadline.

    Afraid I won’t have built anything by then that makes me want to stay.

    Maybe I’ve been thinking about this deadline in the wrong way. Maybe I don’t need a literal death, rather a different kind of ending is needed. Even by my deadline, I just need to pivot, to change directions, because I can always change my mind. I contradict myself, I’m rarely consistent in my thoughts unless it’s to put myself down, but I keep pushing through that personal miasma and show up anyways.

    So I rage.

    I write.

    I stretch.

    I keep moving.

    I’d rather burn myself out at both ends trying to make something than live quietly. Life has much to offer and I’d want to see as much of it as possible.

    Not out of hope.

    But out of spite.

    Because if I’m going to be forced to exist, I’m going to make noise. Even in the silence.

    You don’t fully meet yourself until the silence strips everything away.

    Until there’s no one else to impress.

    No one else to lie to.

    No more distractions.

    Just you.

    And all your demons are sitting in the front seat asking, “Now what?”

    You Made It Through

    If you’ve ever driven in silence and hated every second of it — If you’ve ever stared into the void of your own thoughts and heard them answer back — I won’t tell you it gets better.

    For me, I’ve learned to sit with myself without destroying myself in the moment like before.

    But you’re not alone when the silence brings up stuff you’d rather not acknowledge, but it does exist here with you in your own moments.

    So, tell me—

    Have you fully met yourself in the silence?

    And if you haven’t…

    What are you afraid you’ll hear?

    If this resonated with you, then I’d like to invite you to check out my first newsletter, You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything. Or even my PDF as a thank you from me to you, The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    No pressure, no spam, just sharing something I made with you for taking the time to check out what I have to share here. Otherwise, I have other articles to share below that might showcase the variety of topics I tend to explore. Other than that, I’ll see you all later in the archives.

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Learning to Work With A.I. — Not Let It Think For Me

  • Do You Really Want to Know?

    How are you feeling right now?

    There exist two sides of a story in this life, right? But what if we aren’t on either side, but are somewhere in the middle hanging in suspension? In a space people don’t talk about much unless, “they’ve made it?” What about those of us still navigating through this space though?

    Do You Really Want to Know How I’m Feeling?

    How am I feeling?

    That’s a loaded question. Because I’m not quite sure. I’m not angry. I’m not numb. I’m not happy either. I’m just… here. Existing in a kind of muted state, where everything still functions but nothing feels particularly real or urgent.

    I’m aware that I’m emotionally burnt out, physically spent, worn down, yet I have this extra energy to keep writing.

    There’s a strange kind of terror in not knowing what you feel. Like the compass inside is glitching — not spinning wildly, but just… stuck. Unmoving. It’s not sadness, exactly. It’s the awareness that I’m emotionally disconnected until something extreme, like anger, drags me back into myself.

    Right now, I’m sitting in my cluttered apartment. There are dishes in the sink, clean clothes waiting to be folded, a bed left undone. And instead of doing any of that, I’m typing this. Or I’ve been fiddling with my lock-picking set for a while. Something about misaligned priorities — or maybe just redirected energy — feels easier than confronting the basics of daily life.

    It’s not dramatic. It’s not catastrophic. But it is unsettling. And maybe that’s the most honest answer I can give right now.

    Letter from the Void

    If any of this resonates, I write more like this in my ongoing project, You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.— it’s my newsletter with thoughts from the quiet spaces, where clarity sometimes hides. You’re welcome to sit with me there, too.

    If you’re not ready for that but still want to leave a trace, drop a one-word comment: how you’re feeling — or maybe just “here.”

    Or if this reminds you of someone in your life, maybe show them this. Sometimes feeling seen or recognizing bits of ourselves in something outside of us can make it seem we’re less alone.

    You could check out my other work if you’d like. No spam, no pressure, just an invitation to sit with something that you might be feeling and I might have been able to put it into words. Sitting at the edge of the void wondering if someone hears us whisper, and maybe someone did. One day at a time.

    The Stratagem’s Archive: You Begin Here:

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Keep Writing — Your Freedom, Time, and Sanity Are on the Line

    Do You Ever Feel Like You’re Writing Into A Void?

  • The Burden I Carry is Freed: I Started Blogging As I Had No One to Talk To.

    Why do you blog?

    Three months ago, I was stacking boxes in a warehouse, choking on my own thoughts. I had no one to talk to, so I turned to a blank page instead. Since then, I’ve written over 50 blog posts — not because I had a plan, but because I needed to feel something.

    — The Archivist

    Blogging My Way Out of Silence

    Three months ago, I was stacking boxes in a warehouse, suffocating under fluorescent lights and the weight of my own thoughts. I felt like I was disappearing — not in a poetic way, but in that quiet, invisible kind of way where no one asks how you’re doing, and you stop knowing how to answer if they ever did.

    So I started blogging.

    Not because I had a plan. Not because I thought I’d be good at it.

    But because I had nowhere else to put the things that lived in my head.

    I Blog Because I Wanted to Feel Alive

    For years, I kept myself small. I buried my curiosity beneath jobs, routines, silence. I didn’t think anyone would care what I had to say, so I stopped saying anything at all. But something in me couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

    Blogging became a way to write myself back into existence.

    To prove — if only to myself — that I was here. That I am here.

    That I’m not just a forgotten footnote in a story I didn’t ask to be part of.

    From Warehouse Floor to Digital Garden

    Since I started, I’ve written over 50 articles, shared thoughts on dozens of different topics, and published every single one without pretending to be an expert. I wrote because I needed to. I wrote for 18 days straight. I built a digital garden to house the chaos. I made a manifesto — something I could hold in my hands and say: “This is mine.”

    I have 4 subscribers.

    One comment.

    200+ scattered likes and visits.

    It’s not viral. It’s not monetized. But it’s real.

    And that’s more than I had before.

    The Burden I Carry Is Free

    I named this post after a phrase that kept haunting me: The burden I carry is free.

    All these thoughts and feelings and desires I hold — they don’t cost anything. No one asks me to carry them. But they’re heavy. So heavy.

    Blogging gave me somewhere to lay them down.

    Sometimes I feel like I’m too much.

    Sometimes I feel like I’m not enough.

    Sometimes I feel like I’ll explode from overthinking, and sometimes I feel absolutely nothing at all.

    And still, I write.

    Music That Speaks When I Can’t

    There’s a French artist I found recently, Indila. Her song “Parle à ta tête” loops in my ear like a mantra. I don’t even know French, but something in her voice feels like she’s talking directly to me from across time and the sea. I might not be struggling with fame, but I do know that the performative aspects of living is unbearable.

    Let me live as myself— free to express, explore, to know I am alive as I feel deeply, unapologetically, and real. Not as a fake, not as someone who might eventually be lost to time, not even making it into the cliff notes of life. This is my mark, this is my proof that I was here, and I wonder if anyone else feels this same pressure to perform, even if we aren’t under the same spotlight as celebrities, we still are on the world’s stage after all.

    I’ve been listening to “Monster” from Epic: The Musical, too — and it hits deeper than I expected. It echoes that internal voice that tells me I’m selfish for wanting more, broken for feeling differently. Like I should be grateful, quiet, small, and I’m a monster for thinking otherwise.

    But then I play “Legendary,” also from Epic, and I remember:

    There’s still a part of me that believes in more.

    There’s still a part of me that hopes and I shouldn’t be ashamed of wanting more or being conflicted all at once. The dissonance is real, yet what happens when we want to break free from our shells, free from what is in exchange for what could be? Is that really being foolish or are we seeing something we can’t ignore anymore?

    Even I haven’t figured that out, but I lean towards, “Yes — I saw something and I want more of it in my life. Is that so wrong?”

    Blogging for Survival, Not Fame

    Originally, I hoped this blog might help me make a little money. Just enough to buy time. Breathing room. A chance to chase my curiosity full-time. But I found myself torn between writing honestly and writing for clicks.

    I’m not a content machine. I’m not a brand. I’m just someone with a lot of feelings and a need to be heard.

    But I still want this to grow. Not for fame or appeasing the algorithms — but for connection.

    Because I know there are others out there like me, staring at a blank screen, or walking their own version of a warehouse floor wondering if anyone else feels this lost and full at the same time.

    If that’s you — I see you.

    Maybe You’ve Felt This Too

    • Like you’re disappearing, slowly.
    • Like you’re carrying too much and no one knows.
    • Like your thoughts are too loud, and your world is too quiet.
    • Like you’re terrified of dying before you’ve ever really lived.

    If so — you’re not broken. You’re not alone.

    There’s nothing wrong with wanting more. Or needing a way to be seen.

    Where Do I Go From Here?

    Ain’t that the kicker — I don’t know myself exactly.

    Maybe I’ll offer a zine. Or a newsletter. Or something small you can hold onto when your own thoughts get too loud. I have a PDF you can look into as well.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    Maybe someone will read this and decide to start writing again or start that something they said they’d do someday.

    Or for the first time.

    Or simply whisper, “Me too.”

    That’s enough for me right now.

    I don’t write because I have the answers or I’m an expert at anything.

    I write because I need to remember I’m still here.

    And maybe, if you’ve read this far, you do too.

    Want to Support or Connect?

    If any part of this resonated, you can:

    Subscribe to the blog — I share honest, raw reflections like this often. Buy me a coffee (Coming soon?) — Support helps me keep creating without forcing performance. Or leave a comment — I’d love to hear your story too. Even a simple, “same”, is enough for me to know someone gets it and I’m not always writing into the oblivion alone.

    You’re Still Here — And That’s Enough.

    Thank you for reading this. Really.

    I don’t know who will find this post, but if you’re reading these last words, just know — I’m glad you’re still here. And I hope you keep going.

    Your thoughts matter.

    Your voice matters.

    And maybe, just maybe — your story’s only getting started.

    Below are other articles you could check out, just because. No pressure, no need to rush, just options to explore. From this part of the void to yours, until next time.

    — The Stratagem’s Archives

    What post of mine stuck with you—and why?”

    “What would you want to see more of?”

    “Would you support this space if I offered a way to?”

    You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Keep Writing — Your Freedom, Time, and Sanity Are on the Line

  • The Real Pros and Cons of Rage Rooms (From Someone Who Works in One)

    A sketch of my job’s mascot representing a person’s (mental and emotional) prison FINALLY getting a chance to be let out in a rage room.

    I Would Like To Rage!!! In A Rage Room!

    “Ever felt that bubbling rage boiling up from within the pit of your soul? You know the feeling: Your body begins shaking, you feel your hands curling and clenching, your breathing becomes shallower and fast, your vision begins to narrow and sound becomes less noticeable, and you feel the need to exert energy and force.

    Many of us keep our emotions bottled up, afraid of judgement and the consequences that will follow if we act on our anger indiscriminately and lash out.

    That’s where a Rage Room comes in!

    A Smash room, a break room, a destruction room, whatever you want to call them, these rooms will allow you to safely explore these feelings that are commonly frowned upon in civilized society in a safe, controlled, and sanctioned environment.

    Observations From A Rage Room Attendant

    As a rage rooms attendant, I’ve seen a lot of different people enter the rage room for their own reasons. Many people, after getting everyone comfortable with the idea with breaking and destroying things, are initially visiting for a few reasons:

    • It’s a company team building experience.
    • A family or friend outing.
    • Are looking for novelty.
    • Celebrating something significant.
    • Going through a lot of stress and emotions.
    • Had been hurt, betrayed, or been through a break up.

    After they pick their items, are suited up, given the safety rules, and put into the rooms, depending on the size of their party, it’s usually free game within their 30-45 minute time slot.

    Some people are awkward and don’t put too much force behind their swings or throws that I tend to find a lot of things left unbroken that I can give to the next group to break.

    Although, most visitors are military, so they fall into one of two categories:

    They are either so efficient that they are in and out of the room in under 5 minutes, likely due to their efficiency and training, while others take their time and enjoy themselves after being on tour.

    Then there’s those who are doing this for fun with friends and family, or people who are celebrating a huge win for their company and they actually like and enjoy their coworkers enough to do an outing, and or someone is leaving their company and this is a farewell gift(a pretty cool and memorable one in my opinion).

    I’ve seen the people who have had their hearts broken. There is nothing more painful and rage inducing than hurt, pain, and loss. When they enter, some are willing to share that they’ve gone through a break up, they still have a smile or neutral expression on their face, but others you can tell only by the type of music they play when the room door closes. It’s pretty obvious and we can see their behavior on the cameras to make sure they’re doing okay.

    Real World Examples In Action

    I remember a group of women, three friends, came in because one friend was going through heartbreak. All three were extremely enthusiastic when in the room that I saw they were stomping on a CPU unit after being told not to in the safety briefing.

    Fun can make people myopic, but they knew what they were getting themselves into and we made sure they didn’t do anything to really hurt themselves or each other.

    Another visitor was a high school boy and his good friend. He was visiting because he was going through a break up, and from what the dad, and the boy’s choice in music, told me.

    The second I heard, “Photograph, Thinking Out Loud, and Perfect” by Ed Sheeran, ‘I’m Not The Only One” by Sam Smith, “It Will Rain” by Bruno Mars, and other sad sounding love songs, I knew what was happening.

    The Pro’s of A Rage Room

    I may be a rage room attendant trying to endorse people to try something I work at, but I’ve seen the benefits of people taking their frustrations out with us than outside in the world. Besides novelty, a Rage Room:

    • Allows for safe and immediate release of anger and excess emotions: Why destroy things outside and get arrested, when you can do so someplace designed for this kind of release?
    • Accessible and low-commitment: Unlike therapy or martial arts gyms, you don’t have to commit to scheduled sessions. You can walk in, smash and scream, drink water, and leave and return whenever you want.
    • Provides cathartic support: You don’t have to talk, no one has to listen, it’s just you in a room with things to break, a few lead pipes and sledgehammers, and the world doesn’t have to bat an eye to you in that room. Except us employees. Whatever happens in the rage room, stays in the rage room(unless you’re recording on your phone).

    What Are the Downsides?

    The cons are just as important to know as the pros. They do make a difference if you want to give it a try or not, but it’s not always a make or break deal. Visiting a rage room isn’t always the best solution. A rage room:

    • Can be expensive: It’s a better investment than bail, but the money could be better used towards therapy or a martial arts classes.
    • It doesn’t address the root cause or emotion for the visit: rage rooms are meant to be fun, novel, and an outlet for sublimation, but it’s not a solution. Rage rooms can’t provide skills or strategies to deal with anger or excess emotions that professional help is better equipped to do.
    • It could reinforce destructive behavior: Ironically, though we do have repeat customers, a rage room might reinforce someone’s inclination to deal with their emotions through destructive means. I’m not suggesting that these repeat customers fall into this assumption, but people are interesting and might cling to this outlet as the only solution they can get.
    • Not readily available in your area: Rage rooms are a growing trend, but aren’t everywhere. My workplace is the only one in my state, so some people have to take a drive down or need a plane ticket over. It’s another reason to consider long-term and local alternatives instead.

    Do Rage Rooms Have Anything Else?

    Yes, as far as my job goes, Rage rooms do have other means of letting excess energy out. People don’t have to come in angry to enjoy the services my job can offer, though some people are usually in need of a different kind of release. One not catering towards destruction, rather one that’s more creative.

    We have a Zen Lounge where people can relax, talk stories, and chill after a rage room session or before entering the Splatter Room.

    A Splatter Room is an open paint room where you can shoot paint at the walls, the provided canvases, or each other with paint guns or the paint kits.

    It’s a different and creative release some people appreciate instead of wanting to break things when they don’t feel compelled to.

    We do provide safety gear: ponchos, eye wear, and boots to protect people’s clothes and eyes as best as possible, but friends and family make that difficult when fun’s involved.

    Being creative can be just as cathartic as the rage room as it lets you be physical and you don’t have to care what you create, compared to painting a masterpiece or someone’s house.

    What About The Overly Enthusiastic Individuals?

    Some people have asked, other than what items they are allowed to bring to smash from the outside, if they could bring the person who hurt them in to smash. Other than an obvious, “no”, I’m able to suggest another alternative.

    An Alternative To Rage: Martial Arts

    I’ve done wrestling and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu prior to working at the rage room, so I suggest that people can visit a sparring gym.

    Any gym that offers sparring:

    • Boxing.
    • Kickboxing.
    • Judo.
    • Muay-Thai.
    • Wrestling.
    • BJJ.
    • ANY MARTIAL ARTS GYM.

    Any good gym will teach you new physical skills and how to ensure you keep a level head. Anger doesn’t make a person stronger, no matter how much of a fan of Dragon Ball Z or Naruto: Shippuden you are.

    Those are animes; we don’t live in an anime where we’re the main characters with plot armor. I know this intimately and from experience that anger makes you sloppy, predictable, and a sore loser who refuses to learn or adjust their approach to the sport and to life.

    True Strength Lies Within

    I had spent more than 10 years wrestling with my anger. During BJJ training, I didn’t care what happened to me, I wanted to see what I could do. Even if that meant enduring some locks or chokes because I didn’t want to tap out and I wanted to see if I could get out. My personal motto was, “If I can talk, I’m still breathing.”

    However, I’ve been dealing with emotional numbness for years that a professor at my gym told me some people, and himself, thought something was wrong with me.

    That kind of hurt because that told me people thought I was damaged in some way and it showed in my training. I was eager to learn and use my wrestling experience to help me learn a new sport, but I needed to FEEL something, anything, because I struggled to that wasn’t anger. So, once being told this, I tried to tap more, but my habits always kicked in, unless something really did hurt.

    My training would suffer when I got mad; I would be blind to the countermoves, to the opportunities to attack and defend. I needed more energy, and my trade off was horrible in the end.

    I hated training, I hated myself, and that hate made it difficult to learn or pay attention to the lessons being taught, in BJJ and in life.

    I would rather train and spar than deal with the real reasons for my anger, but I did it anyways. I needed to because doing nothing would have gotten me into real trouble. Then what? I’d be in jail and have that on my record for life, making a lot of opportunities impossible and out of reach than it already is for me.

    Therapy wasn’t the best fit for me when I tried it, but I’m not averse to trying again. Money is kinda tight right now, so I’ve started taking notes, noticing any changes in myself and what could have caused it, setting boundaries, having standards for myself, while pursing new outlets at home and on a budget.

    Seeking professional help, even learning new skills, to redirect anger through a sport or art is more powerful than anger ever could be. It takes more strength and courage to do the things that scare us and I know well that facing my own demons are terrifying.

    I’ve been noticing that some places in my life ignite the rage I’ve been keeping under wraps. It emerges when I feel disrespected, looked down upon, or made a fool of because I’m not conventionally successful or in a position of authority. I’m just a grunt at my full time job and it drives me up the wall.

    Anger and sublimation are signals, not long term solutions, and are trying to tell you that something is wrong. Don’t let it consume you because you might do something you could regret.

    Reflection

    Have you ever gone to a rage room for its novelty, creative outlet, or needed to break something that wasn’t going to hit you back? If you did, share your experience with 1 word that described what it was like or how you felt when you visited.

    I’d love to know what your opinions on them are in the comments below. No pressure. No clickbait. Just curious. Thank you, Fellow Archivists, I’ll see you all in another post.

    Call to Action

    If any part of this resonated with you — the release, the rage, the quiet that follows after — consider sharing this piece with someone who might need a reminder that it’s okay to break before you rebuild.

    Every read, like, subscribe, and share helps this small corner of the internet grow a little louder in a world that keeps trying to quiet us down.

    Below are other reflections I had on feeling anger, redirecting it, not feeling enough, and doing something different.

    Gifts From The Archives: