Have you ever screamed yourself hoarse into your pillow, when frustration or despair surmounts? The cathartic release leaves you feeling slightly better, if not more tired, and slightly emptier than a few moments before. Scream therapy is a type of expressive therapy, now weaved into art and culture. Perhaps some of us could benefit from the emotional release of stress here on campus. 

Scream therapy, an off-shoot of “primal therapy” came around in the 1970s from psychologist Arthur Janov, but the idea that screaming as a form of emotional release provides a “cure from neurosis,” as claimed Janov, is still speculative. 

On the top floor of Building 8 sits the Mt. Jupiter room, or the Reading Room; meant to be a quiet space for people to keep calm and focus. But sometimes, it’s the other end of that spectrum that isn’t provided a space on campus. Rage rooms become more popular each year, with locations in Seattle and Olympia. 

The Seattle Art Museum (SAM) hosts a “participatory performance” installation by artist Nicholas Galanin. The installation, in white, neon lights, reads, “I’ve composed a new American National Anthem: take a knee and scream until you can’t breathe.” 

Galanin’s Instagram post reads, in part, “The work offers visitors a place to kneel and follow the directive of the neon sign on the wall…the work creates an intersectional space for catharsis; to mourn the loss of lives, freedoms and safety for people and lands subjected to American violence, and to protest continuing oppression.” 

Walking through the SAM, museum goers will occasionally hear guttural screaming echo throughout the building. Housed in “American Art: The Stories We Carry,” goers are funneled into the square room curtained in black. 

As I stood around the exhibit waiting for viewers to engage, my eyes flitted about the room looking for any takers. What I noticed were three other women doing the same thing. We all made eye contact, understanding each other. Nodding, we knelt on the mats together. Someone counted us down, and after three we screamed our lungs out. The exasperated smile we shared connected us in emotional reprieve. 

It mirrors a similar instance taking place in Asheville, N.C., and Chicago. 

Exactly one year following the disastrous Hurricane Helene that wiped out entire districts in the mountains of North Carolina, the residents of Asheville gathered on a bridge sidewalk and let it out for several ten-second-long rounds of screaming. 

Librarian Erin Parcels led the crowd, shouting through a red megaphone, “Let all of your feelings out, everybody. The trauma that we’ve had, the sadness, the joy of coming together.” The group formed the Primal Scream Club, inspired by Scream Club Chicago. Closer to home, Scream Club Seattle meets once a month. 

Maybe replacing the Reading Room with a ThunderBird branded rage room isn’t the right answer, but holding space for releasing pent up negative emotions is a good start. Perhaps it takes a few students to start their own Scream Club Highline. 

**Mavrie has been serving as editor for the ThunderWord since 2024. She is also the founding president of Highline’s Non-fiction Writers Circle.**