08/09/2026
I spent so much time thinking I needed to fix my anger, when really, I needed to understand it.
My anger was never my identity. It was never the entirety of who I was. It was a response to things I hadn't yet learned how to process, wounds I hadn't found language for, boundaries I didn't know how to communicate.
I wasn't a bad person because I was angry. I was a person trying to make sense of pain, fear, disappointment, and everything I had carried for too long.
And the more I understood my anger, the less power it had over me.
I didn't need to fix myself.
I needed to understand myself.
Because I was never my anger. I was the person underneath it, learning how to listen to what it was trying to say.