The Unexpected Reason We Trust People Who Get Angry

“You can't be an extension of a heart you don't honour." - John Gray

Illustration By Disney, Ember, Elemental

When I was little, I knew what I loved, what made me happy and I spent my days doing exactly those things. 

I loved climbing trees and sneaking into the neighbour’s pool because we didn’t have one of our own. I loved spending long, uninterrupted hours with my friends, trading forbidden romance novels like sacred texts in a secret club of wild-hearted ten-year-olds. I did not love my grandma’s “be a nice girl and behave” talks—and I didn’t pretend to.

I wasn’t an angry little girl. I was sharp. Feisty. Autonomous. Confident. Witty. Authentic. Courageous. And absolutely freaking awesome. And if anyone dared to stop me from being any of those things, I got angry.

Not the kind of anger that throws things or yells across the room. My anger was a quiet fire—a solid, liquidy ball of lava that burned strong in my belly. When I felt that fire, I felt powerful. Assured. Steady. It told me, without words: What they’re saying isn’t right. And you don’t have to listen.

Adults were often stunned by how easily I ignored their criticisms and commands. They wanted me tame. I remained free.

But over time, I learned—like so many of us do—that it’s not okay to be angry. That being sharp was “too much.” That being feisty was “trouble.” And so I stopped showing the signal. I stopped expressing anger to the outside world. And eventually, to survive, I stopped feeling it inside myself too. I became quieter. Smaller. More acceptable. And I forgot that my anger was once a signal of my truth. My boundaries. My worth.

Now, decades later, something unexpected is happening:

My anger is coming back.

And not because I’m unwell—but because I’m finally healing.

Anger is a Sign That You’re Waking Up

I thought healing would make me softer. Quieter. More “zen.”

I imagined myself sipping tea in a sun-drenched room, speaking only when necessary, always calm, always grounded. The kind of woman who forgives easily, lets go effortlessly, smiles warmly, and is holding the perfect yoga pose with no sign of fury. What no one told me is that healing might make me angry. And not in a destructive way. In a holy fire is rising in my bones and I can’t go back to sleep kind of way.

At first, I was ashamed of this anger. It felt off-putting for me and others around me. Hadn’t I gone to countless healing workshops, journaled, cried, burned sage, cold plunged, and whispered affirmations into the mirror? The truth is, I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was finally doing something right.

Anger and Freedom 

I used to think I was “at peace” because I was not angry, but now I know when you take away your anger, you take away any chance at your freedom.

Suppression is not peace. Being unbothered is not being free. 

Real peace comes after we’ve done what anger is asking us to do. And most of the time, anger is just asking us to stand up—for ourselves, or for someone else. Anger isn’t mean or cruel. It’s protective. It cares. It shows up when something isn’t right.

Anger has the opposite energy of victimhood or martyrdom, and that makes it irresistibly attractive. 

Anger and Fear 

When we think of an angry person, we often picture someone bitter, scary, or destructive. But that’s not anger. That’s unhealed trauma.

Real anger awakens a different kind of fear—the fear of facing the truth.

Because when we actually listen to our anger, it often reveals something uncomfortable: that we may need more or different things from the people closest to us. That some of our relationships aren’t as mutual or fair as we hoped. That we haven’t been showing up for our own needs and dreams.

Anger reminds us that self-care isn’t just about bubble baths, new nail polish, or stronger biceps. Sometimes, it looks like letting go of invisible responsibilities we never agreed to carry. Sometimes, it’s the reminder that being liked by everyone is turning into, not liking yourself very much. 

Anger brings up fear because it raises a deeper question: Are you willing to open your eyes and look at your life honestly? Is it everything you thought it would be, back when you were still wild and free?

Anger, when it’s allowed to speak, tells the truth.

It shows you where your boundaries were crossed. It reminds you of the values you abandoned to keep the peace. It brings fire back to the places you’ve gone cold.

Anger is not a curse, it is a compass. 

A New Kind of Healing

I still wish I was more unbothered, it would make life so much easier. But my anger is a priceless compass, revealing to me what I need most. It still disrupts and distracts me from my empty attempts at zen-ness. 

I know my anger is here to advocate for me, to illuminate my path towards all that I most hold dear. 

And I know, especially in early healing, I may not be ready to act on what I feel. But I can sit with it.

And if you ask my 10-year old self what she thinks about all those who judge and silence her sacred anger, she would probably say: They can suck it!

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