There was a time when I thought anger was something people either controlled… or didn’t.
I saw it in two forms.
There were those who swallowed it whole—people who smiled when something hurt, who said “it’s fine” when it wasn’t, who slowly disappeared inside themselves. And then there were those who couldn’t hold it at all—voices rising, words sharp, something overflowing that seemed too big to contain.
For a long time, I didn’t see a third way.
Not in others, and not in myself.
Anger is trying to say something
I remember sitting with a client once. Their voice had begun to rise—not suddenly, but with a kind of build-up, like something inside them was gathering force. The words came faster, sharper, more certain.
On the surface, it looked like anger. But underneath, something else was happening. There was fear. There was hurt. There was a deep, almost unbearable sense of not being seen. And the anger—loud, intense, consuming—was trying to do something important.
It was trying to say: “Pay attention to me. I matter. This is not okay.”
Anger, at its core, is not the problem. It is a signal.
The two ways we lose ourselves in anger
Most of us are taught, directly or indirectly, to deal with anger in one of two ways.
We either suppress it.
Or we explode with it.
When we suppress anger, we learn to stay quiet, to smooth things over, to be easy. But anger doesn’t disappear—it turns inward. It becomes anxiety, resentment, tension in the body, and a quiet disconnection from ourselves and others.
When we explode, anger takes over. It spills out in sharp words, raised voices, or withdrawal that feels cutting. And afterward, there is often shame. Regret. A sense of having gone too far.
Different expressions.
Same disconnection.
In both cases, we lose ourselves.
The missing piece: self-compassion
What most people were never taught is that there is a third way. A way where anger can exist—fully and honestly—without becoming destructive or disappearing altogether. This is what I call healthy anger.
And at the center of it is something often misunderstood: self-compassion.
Self-compassion is not a teddy bear.
It is not about excusing behavior or avoiding responsibility.
It is not softness in the way we often imagine softness.
Self-compassion is inner steadiness.
It is the ability to stay with yourself when something difficult arises—without collapsing and without turning against yourself. It sounds like: “I can be with this.” “This is hard, but I don’t have to run from it.” “I don’t have to become this feeling either.” Without self-compassion, anger either gets pushed away or takes over. With it, something else becomes possible.
Anger in Relationships
In close relationships, anger often feels bigger, faster, and harder to manage. This is not just emotional—it is physiological. When we feel triggered, the brain’s alarm system activates. A small structure called the amygdala scans for danger and sends signals through the body: heart rate increases, breathing changes, stress hormones are released. This state is often called flooding. When we are flooded, the part of the brain responsible for reflection and impulse control goes offline. We lose perspective. We lose flexibility. We lose access to the part of ourselves that can stay connected. It becomes about survival. This is why arguments escalate so quickly—and why people often say things they later regret.
Two partners, two survival strategies
In relationships, this often creates a painful pattern. One partner becomes more expressive: pushing, intensifying, trying to be heard. The other becomes overwhelmed: withdrawing, shutting down, going quiet.
But that withdrawal is not the absence of anger. It is often anger turned inward. Both partners are reacting to overwhelm. Both are protecting something vulnerable. But from the outside, it looks like: one is “too much” and the other is “not enough” And neither feels understood.
Hurt and anger
There is a difference between hurt and anger. But in relationships, they often become intertwined. Because what many people express as anger is, underneath, something much more vulnerable:
Hurt. Longing.Disappointment
Anger is easier.
It protects. It creates distance. It gives a sense of strength.
So instead of saying:
“That really hurt me,”
we say:
“Why would you do that?”
Instead of showing the wound, we show the armor. But we tend to receive responses based on what we show.
Anger often calls forward defensiveness. Hurt, when it can be expressed, invites care.
This is not about eliminating anger. It is about becoming honest about what is underneath it. What anger is protecting. When anger softens—even slightly—something else often emerges.
Hurt. Fear. Grief.
And underneath all of that, something very simple: I want to feel safe. I want to feel important. I want to feel loved. Anger is often the first voice of that need. Self-compassion is what allows us to stay long enough to hear it.
Learning to stay
The work is not to get rid of anger. The work is to learn how to stay with it. To feel it without being consumed by it. To listen to it without immediately reacting from it. To express it without losing connection—to yourself or to others. This is a different kind of strength.
Not suppression. Not explosion.
But presence.
The ability to say:
“I feel something here… and I can stay with it.” “This matters to me… and I can express it.”
Coming home to yourself
Cultivating compassion—both for ourselves and for our partner—is what allows us to step out of these reactive, painful cycles and into something more connected, more honest, and more human. Perhaps anger was never the problem. Perhaps it was always pointing toward something important. Something worth protecting. Something worth honoring. And maybe the real question is not:
“How do I get rid of my anger?” But: “What is my anger trying to tell me about what matters to me?”
When anger is understood, held with compassion, and communicated from a place of inner steadiness, it no longer breaks connection—it becomes a pathway to deeper connection.
And becomes a way of coming home— to yourself.
With love,
Izabela Misiuk,
Couples and Individual Counselling (MA) | Coaching Psychologist (GMBPsS, MSc) | Women's Circle Facilitator | izabelamisiuk.com
“Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach… there will always be times when you feel discouraged. I, too, have felt despair many times in my life, but I do not keep a chair for it. I will not entertain it. It is not allowed to eat from my plate. In that spirit, I hope you will write this on your wall: When a great ship is in harbor and moored, it is safe, there can be no doubt. But that is not what great ships are built for.” - Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés