When fear hides behind anger

Sometimes anger isn’t really anger at all.

It’s fear…dressed up in armor. 

We’ve all been there. 

That moment when life unravels and you find yourself holding too much.  

You’re running on adrenaline, doing what needs to be done, and there’s no space for softness - no room to fall apart. You tell yourself you’re fine, but deep down, you’re terrified. And somehow that fear hardens.  

It starts to sound like frustration, to move like control. 

I’ve had a season of that kind of anger. 

Three and a half years ago, when I lost my late husband, my world flipped upside down in a nanosecond. I stayed strong because I had to… moving cities, managing details, doing what life demanded. Yet in the still moments, the armor cracked just enough for fear to slip through - fear of what was next, of what might fall apart if I stopped moving.  

And I know I wasn’t always peachy to be around in those moments. Luckily, I was surrounded by people who gave me grace -  and most days, I found a way to give myself grace too. Maybe they could’ve held me more accountable, but they sensed the weight I was carrying and that I was trying my best. Sometimes love looks like giving space instead of correction. 

Grief has a way of doing that, disguising fear as motion. 

Sometimes, keeping it together is just the body’s way of staying upright when the heart breaks. 

And this isn’t just about grief… it’s about how our energy moves through challenge.

What I sometimes call the masculine energy in all of us is that inner drive to stay strong, to fix, to protect. It’s the part that translates vulnerability into anger because anger feels safer than fear. It feels powerful, decisive,  something to do when life feels impossible to fix. 

Yet our bodies don’t care why we - or someone else - are angry

 

They only register unsafe. 

That’s why being around that energy can feel so heavy at times - even when we understand where it’s coming from. The nervous system doesn’t separate intention from impact. It just contracts. 

And let me just say, anger itself isn’t wrong. 

In fact, it’s a natural, protective emotion that shows up when something needs attention. But when it becomes a constant companion or starts speaking louder than truth, that’s when it’s usually pointing us toward something deeper that’s ready to be understood. 

Understanding it is one thing… meeting it within ourselves is another. 

When we’re the one feeling the anger, it takes awareness to pause and ask, “What’s really driving this?” 

When we’re on the receiving end, it takes boundaries and compassion to say, “I can hold space for your fear, but not your fire.” 

There’s a difference between supporting someone through their emotions and absorbing their outbursts. Holding space doesn’t mean standing in the line of fire. 

 Anger isn’t the enemy, it’s the messenger. 

It tells us there’s pain underneath, or grief, or helplessness that hasn’t been named yet. 

But the moment we listen - without defending, without running - healing begins. 

May we learn to meet anger with curiosity instead of shame, and to honor what it’s really trying to say.