I don’t like being angry.
I never have.
My own anger frightens me sometimes.
Other people’s anger does too.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve spent so much time trying to understand it.
Not to get rid of it.
Just to understand what it’s trying to tell me.
I’ve noticed that anger rarely arrives alone.
It usually brings company.
Hurt.
Disappointment.
Grief.
Humiliation.
And helplessness.
Ah… helplessness.
There is something deeply uncomfortable about feeling helpless.
It asks us to sit with something we cannot immediately fix, change or control.
Anger, on the other hand, gives us something to hold on to.
It gives us movement.
It gives us certainty.
Sometimes it even gives us righteousness.
And if I’m honest…
Being angry often feels far easier than feeling powerless.
When Anger Becomes a Refuge
The longer I sit with that thought, the more I wonder whether anger is sometimes a refuge.
A place we retreat to because what’s waiting underneath feels too painful to touch.
That doesn’t make anger wrong.
Far from it.
Anger can be an extraordinary messenger.
It tells us when our boundaries have been crossed.
When something precious has been violated.
When we’ve remained silent for too long.
It deserves to be heard.
But I’ve also seen what happens when anger overstays its welcome.
It slowly narrows our world.
It convinces us that our pain is the only story in the room.
It keeps us painfully certain.
Painfully right.
And sometimes…
Letting go of anger also means letting go of the identity of the one who was wronged.
I don’t think that’s easy.
Perhaps that’s why some anger stays with us for years.
Not because we enjoy carrying it.
But because we’re not yet ready to put down everything that comes with it.
Giving Anger a Tourist Visa
These days, I’ve been trying to build a different relationship with anger.
To welcome it when it knocks.
To listen carefully.
To thank it for showing me what needs my attention.
And then, when the time feels right…
To gently open the door again.
Because I’ve come to believe that anger deserves a tourist visa only.
Not permanent residency.
With curiosity and an open heart.
