Annoyed? Good. Your Anger is Whispering.

I was an angry child. Loud, impulsive, raw. Maybe I should’ve stayed that way.

Today, people see a version of me that’s calm, kind, always attuned. But that version came at a cost.

As a kid at home? I stormed out of the kitchen countless times, slammed doors, even bit my sister once or twice. Screaming. Rage. There was so much anger in me—until I learned what it meant to be a "good girl."

So I adapted. I became sweet, agreeable. Especially outside the home. I was everyone’s darling. No enemies. No anger.

But that wasn’t the truth. It never was.

Today, I wish I had stayed closer to that angry girl.

She was loud. She took up space. She demanded to be taken seriously when no one else did. Skills and qualities that I have been missing the past years.

Now, I can decode that anger of my childhood. It was overwhelm, helplessness, not being understood.

Kids need to learn how to feel their anger, understand it, regulate it—because anger is a signal. It tells us where we’re hurt, where our boundaries lie, what matters to us.

Anger is active. It’s energy. It moves us.

Yes, I know some of you are skeptical. Isn’t anger dangerous? Doesn’t it start wars?

That’s unregulated anger. That’s rage.

But there’s another kind: clear, firm, grounded. A whisper that says, No. This isn’t right.

Living your life like I tried to—deciding not to be an angry person anymore—doesn’t work.

Anger, when unacknowledged, festers.

It bubbles up somewhere, no matter how hard you try to press it down. It becomes self-hate. Cynicism. Passive aggression. Sometimes it shows up in the body as illness. Sometimes just as a quiet, dull kind of pessimism.

Rethinking Anger

Last fall, I read a book about anger. It cracked something open.

I realized my younger self probably had every right to be angry and she didn’t need to punish herself for it.

But she did.

I did.

My anger turned into shame.

I felt broken for being the impulsive one. For slamming doors, smashing glasses. For not being more like the girls who were always calm. Always composed. Always better.

That’s shame. That’s pain.

I remember lying in bed, crying. Over and over. Wondering why I was the angry one. What was wrong with me?

So I made it my mission to stop being angry—even when the anger made sense. I believed there was no room for it in this world.

Be good. Be nice. Be helpful. Supportive. Pretty. Smart.

Smile.

And I did.

Self-Silencing

Years of smiling masked a deeper silence.

I became the girl who read everyone else’s feelings before her own. I floated out of my body and into theirs. What do they need? What will make them like me?

Unconscious, but constant. I was self-conscious, so discomfort around others felt normal. I shaped myself around whatever drew smiles or compliments. More eye contact. More laughter. More ease. More extroversion.

And later, more alcohol.

Alcohol was freedom. It made me loose, playful. A giggling, dancing, affectionate version of myself.

But also—unauthentic.

Yes, the joy was real. But underneath was neediness. A quiet longing: Please accept me. Please tell me I’m okay.

It took growing up, a lot of self-reflection, and safe friendships to help me find my way back to myself. I started noticing my patterns. My anxiety. My social coping strategies. And slowly, I began to regulate.

When Your Body Knows Before You Do

Here’s the thing: if anger never felt safe to you, you might not even recognize when you’re angry.

You might gaslight yourself. Tell yourself there’s no reason to be upset—while your body is vibrating with fury.

This is especially true for women, non-binary, and trans people. Instead of anger, the body might go into freeze or fawn mode—because that feels safer.

I remember a job interview with a psychiatrist, the head of a clinic. The power imbalance was palpable. He made several sexist remarks. I felt deeply uncomfortable.

My reaction? I smiled through the entire thing.

That was fawning. My nervous system doing what it thought would keep me safe.

Only after I left the building did the anger hit. Hard.

Why didn’t I walk out? Why didn’t I speak up?

Because my body didn’t trust me with that anger yet. I didn’t even recognize it as anger.

But that moment taught me something. Now I know what it feels like in my body when a boundary is being crossed.

Even if I can’t act in the moment, I can name it.

And that awareness protects me.

Feeling Anger Doesn’t Mean Acting On It

As a child, I didn’t know how to handle anger. I couldn’t regulate it.

Now I can.

I’m an adult. I understand my history, my triggers, my nervous system. I can feel anger, stay with it, and choose what to do.

Sometimes it still catches me off guard. Sometimes it rolls in like weather. But I pause. I reflect. I choose.

I promised myself: I will take my anger seriously. It’s showing me something.

That doesn’t mean the other person has to change.

It means I noticed something. I am feeling it. And now I decide what to do with that.

Anger doesn’t have to be scary. Or destructive. That’s a myth passed down by people who never learned how to be with theirs.

Anger is a nervous system response. Human. Normal.

If you ignore it, it will find another way to speak—through anxiety, illness, depression, addiction.

So listen to the whisper. You may not need the roar.

Anger speaks to you—not to the person who triggered it. If your friend is always late and it makes you furious, that anger is still yours. A signal. A boundary being crossed.

Say it clearly. Don’t dramatize. Don’t suppress. Don’t build stories around it.

Just name the need.

Then choose.

Maybe you stop making time-sensitive plans with that friend. Maybe you see them only when it doesn’t cost you something.

But don’t explode. And don’t swallow it.

Feel it. Name it. Then act—aligned, not reactive.

It’s hard. But it’s yours now.

Annoyed? That’s Anger in Disguise

If you’ve lived your life denying anger, it might show up first as annoyance.

That’s version 1.0 of anger. A warning light.

I used to feel ashamed when I was annoyed. I’d either bury it or gossip about it. Both options were harmful—either to me or to others.

Now, I try to pause. What exactly is annoying me?

Often, it’s not about the other person. I just need alone time.

I’ve come to love being alone. And when I don’t get it, I get irritable.

Noted.

Sometimes it’s the topic that does not interest me. Or the heat. Or stupid work rules. But even then—I remind myself I can make my own rules outside that building.

Yesterday, I was debating whether to move my newsletter to another platform. I’ve gone back and forth about it for weeks. My partner asked, "Have you decided yet?"

I got defensive—tight jaw, tense shoulders—and, most of all, annoyed he even asked. However, this was not about him. Not at all. It’s very attentive that he was asking me.

It was all about me. I was mad at myself for not deciding. For needing more time.

That’s my responsibility.

And maybe, as a child, that’s what was happening too.

Maybe I was bored. Disconnected. Misunderstood. My family and I had different interests. Maybe I just wanted to be heard, and when I wasn’t, that annoyance built until I exploded. Slammed doors. Cried. Shamed myself.

It feels incredibly true. And sad. But also freeing.

I love my family. And I love that I now have people I can talk to about my interests. I also love that I can quietly leave a conversation when I feel annoyed—rather than making a scene.

This is about being seen. About boundaries. About self-protection.

It’s about anger.

Anger, expressed with care, is a gift. It helps us protect what matters. It frees us.

Anger is personal. It’s not a weapon. It’s not an excuse to hurt others.

Anyone can learn to regulate it. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. Don’t gaslight yourself.

This world needs people who know how to express anger with clarity and integrity.

Start with your own body.

Start with the whisper.

Would you like to learn to listen?

🪶 Resonating with this?

If this stirred something in you—if you're learning to feel your anger, listen to your signals, and honor your boundaries—you don’t have to walk that path alone.

In my 1:1 coaching, I support sensitive, thoughtful people in exploring the deeper layers of their emotional life.

We work with anger, boundaries, nervous system awareness, and self-trust. Gently, but honestly.

Curious to explore this together?

👉 Learn more about Coaching with me.

I’d love to hear what’s moving in you.