When Anger Feels Bigger Than Me
Have you ever felt like one tiny inconvenience could set you off completely?
Like every minor mistake or disruption is the end of the world, even if you don’t understand why?
If so, you’re not alone. I’ve been there — I live there sometimes. And I want to share what it feels like when anger becomes too much to hold.
Why Am I So Angry?
Is it normal to feel like every little bad thing is the end of the world?
Is it normal to get set off multiple times a day?
I’ve struggled immensely with uncontrollable anger. And no ,this isn’t about placing blame. Some might interpret it that way, but for me, it’s about understanding. I believe that context is not the same as an excuse, but it does offer an explanation.
The truth is, I never learned how to be angry in a healthy way.
The Pressure to Be Perfect
On top of living with depression, anxiety, and OCPD, I struggle with a constant need for things to be “right.” I crave order, accuracy, and emotional clarity — sometimes expecting others to read my mind and meet needs I haven’t fully named myself.
It’s exhausting. It’s confusing. And sometimes, it’s explosive.
This is something I’m still learning to understand. I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully “healed,” but I do know one thing: I want to break the pattern.
How I Learned Anger Was Normal
Growing up, I didn't learn how to handle anger in a healthy way. During my most formative years, I was shown that rage and outbursts were normal.
In that environment, anger was loud, scary, and constant. Other emotions were often ignored, minimized, or met with hostility. I internalized the idea that being angry meant being emotionally immature or out of control. I never witnessed it as something that could be processed with thoughtfulness, and care.
Looking back now, I realize there were very few days that weren’t filled with tension, raised voices, or walking on eggshells. And today, as an adult, there are very few days where I don’t still carry the weight of that same anger.
It makes sense now.
I didn’t believe it was possible to feel angry without hurting someone — or being hurt myself.
That belief still lingers.
Because the truth is, I owe a huge part of who I am to anger. It shaped me, protected me, and gave me a voice when I didn’t feel heard.
What Anger Feels Like in My Body
For me, anger feels physical — like the world might end if I don’t regain control over a situation.
It feels like:
- A clenched jaw
- Shoulders tightened up over my head
- Racing, intrusive thoughts
- Fire building up in my chest
I still struggle with these reactions. I carry a lot of resentment, stress, and anxiety in my body. But recently, I’ve been trying to notice when those physical signs start. I stick my tongue to the roof of my mouth when I catch my jaw clenching. I take deep breaths when I notice my fists forming.
Anger still feels out of control sometimes. Because I can’t control everything, and that reality used to make me feel like blowing up was inevitable.
But I’m slowly learning: I don’t have to bottle up my emotions, or unleash them. I can respond with softer words. I can pause. I can try again.
Why I Dont Shame Anger
I believe anger is justifiable — and I want anyone reading this to hear that too.
Anger is valid. It reflects real feelings and real experiences.
I justify some of my anger by acknowledging the world I live in: I’m a young, ambitious, and overwhelmed adult trying to hold too many things at once. I’ve been dealt more than my fair share of difficult cards.
And yes, I’ve destroyed things with my anger. Relationships. Opportunities. Dreams.
Those are consequences I’ve had to face — but they’ve also been learning moments.
In the past, I would’ve defended my outbursts until I die. I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. Protect myself, fight back, stand up. But now, as I grow, I’ve started to forgive myself.
She didn’t know how to control what she was never taught to understand.
I am now responsible for my anger.
I am in control — even when it doesn’t feel like it.
This is a process, and it won’t be perfect. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible.
How My Anger Affects the People I Love
This is the part that hurts the most:
My anger doesn’t just affect me. It affects the people I love, the people I need.
There have been times when I’ve said things I didn’t mean, slammed doors I shouldn’t have, or pushed people away because I didn’t know how to express what was underneath it all. Not sadness. Not fear. Just anger.
And the truth is, even when I apologize, the damage isn’t always undone.
I’ve watched people scatter when my tone changes. I’ve seen relationships shift. I’ve felt people pull away, not because they didn’t care, but because I scared them. And in those moments, I scared myself too. I’ve asked: Is this who I really am?
I used to think being angry meant being powerful — in control.
But all it ever made me feel was more out of control, more ashamed, more alone.
Now, I try to check in with myself before I react. It doesn’t always work.
But when it does, it makes a difference.
I’m learning that love and rage can’t mix, and if I want to protect what matters to me, I also have to protect others from the version of me that hasn’t fully healed yet.
It’s hard, but eventually, it will be worth it.
What I Wish You Knew About My Anger
To those who know me — those who have seen my anger. Here's what I want you to hear:
It’s rarely about the moment.
It’s not just one silly mistake or a small inconvenience ,even if it looks that way. Yes, sometimes I do overreact. But most of the time, my anger is the result of years of bottling things up, of feeling overstimulated, exhausted, ignored, and overwhelmed. From carrying more than I know how to hold.
What you see as “rage” is often sadness and pain in disguise. I struggle to express those softer emotions verbally, the ones that feel vulnerable, weak, or too confusing to name. So they come out loud. Intense.
But I’m not trying to be difficult, I’m not trying to ruin things or push people away.
I’m simply carrying too much.
And after the outburst — I regret it. Almost immediately. I replay what I said, how I looked, how it might have made someone feel. And then I spiral into shame. I question my worth. I wonder if I’m lovable, or if I’m just too much to handle.
But here’s what I need you to know:
For every flawed, messy, harmful part of me… I’m trying.
I don’t want to be this way. I don’t want to hurt people. I want to be someone who makes others feel safe, seen, and wanted.
Healing Isn't Linear
I’m learning that anger doesn’t always have to mean destruction.
It can be:
- A sign
- A boundary
- A message
- A need
It doesn’t have to break things, or people.
But healing is a process. One that’s messy, imperfect, and full of unlearning.
Final Thoughts
So if you’re feeling like this too: Angry for no reason, or for every reason, I want you to know:
You are not alone.
You are not broken.
You are not too far gone to grow.
It just means there’s something deeper beneath the surface, asking to be seen.
Let's Keep Goins-- Together
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