Yes, Anger Can Be Healthy But NOT Like This (4-Video Compilation)

Anger is an instinctive emotion; it exists to prompt action when you face danger, humiliation, or injustice. It motivates you to resist, to speak up, or to remove yourself from harm. If, as a child, you experienced a parent’s fury and learned that anger is hazardous, unstable, or must be suppressed, you may struggle to recognize when anger is valid. Certainly, irrational anger exists—everyone experiences it at times, and some people escalate it to perilous levels—but people who were abused or neglected as children and who were taught to shame themselves for feeling angry are especially vulnerable to mistreatment as adults. If this sounds like you, you may be easily misled; you might accept a narrative that everything is fine and that you’re overreacting, or you may quickly turn on yourself, abandon your own wellbeing and inner sense of what’s actually happening. Telling the truth to someone who is abusing you can lead to being hurt or abandoned, so the stakes can feel impossibly high, and facing the truth may seem impossible.
Today’s letter comes from a woman I’ll call Tenzen. She writes: “Hi Anna. I’ve been married for three years. Most of the time I feel very angry with my husband and keep thinking about leaving, but I’m unsure whether my anger is justified because he says I’m being negative and that things aren’t that bad.” Let’s mark that and come back for a second read, but first let’s take in what Tenzen describes.
She says she is his third wife and there’s a fifteen-year age difference between them. He has an eight-year-old son from a prior marriage; his ex lives five blocks away. Their relationship was complicated. Friends and family warned her it would be difficult, but she was happy when they began their relationship, so she ignored those cautions. He was finishing a prior marriage as they got close, and they married three months after his ex moved out; because they lived in different countries, they only began cohabiting a year later. Early on, she noticed small signs—possessiveness, insecurity, oversensitivity—and assumed those traits would fade once they lived together. When they did move in together, sexual demands and pressure became a problem: he argued with her about not giving him what he wanted in bed, pressed her to do sexual things she didn’t enjoy, claiming she had done them before so she should do them with him. Over time his behavior worsened—he would walk away during sex, complain that she didn’t do enough, and use other coercive tactics.
She left to stay with her parents, and during that separation he told her father about her sexual past and accused her of returning to her ex. Her dad became very angry and asked her to leave his home. She returned after her husband promised to make amends, but the fighting intensified and she felt coerced into staying. She developed severe depression and illness; he said he couldn’t handle her mental health struggles. She left again; at that point he accused her of ignoring his needs, served divorce papers without negotiating alimony, and her family reacted strongly—this seemed to make them more aware of the mistreatment. Reeling from the sense of abandonment, she disliked him but could not bring herself to leave permanently. He apologized, they agreed to attempt couples therapy, and her father warned her to call the police if he sexually coerced her again. She returned; his behavior initially improved, but they were unable to start couples therapy and were instead told to “work on themselves.” Meanwhile, his temper flared around his son—over homework and mistakes—and although he can be a loving father, those outbursts made Tenzen uncomfortable. She found herself intervening to protect the child from his father’s anger.
His ex continued to cause trouble, sending abusive emails claiming Tenzen was living in “her” house. The stepson at times resisted her, but she won him over with patience and love. Lately the ex has sent emails containing chats between her and the husband that devastated Tenzen; she felt lied to about the nature of their past relationship and naive for not seeing the truth sooner. The ex alternates between threatening and being affectionate, calling Tenzen “my little sister.” The husband bickers with his ex about the son’s performance, and they threaten court action and custody battles. He copies Tenzen on heated emails, and the husband sometimes takes his frustration out on both her and his son. When he seems fine and she tries to talk, he dismisses her as complaining—“negative and relentless”—and suggests she needs mental health treatment, often responding with silent treatment.
Tenzen describes feeling unwell because she couldn’t find work after moving countries; financially dependent and insecure, despite a good education and past successes. She’s angry with herself for entering this messy situation and for staying. She admits to lashing out—throwing lightweight items and once hitting him with a pillow during a standoff when he stonewalled and blamed her. She has been trying to regulate herself—grounding exercises and daily “resentment practice”—but lately she has stopped expressing herself at all because she constantly feels wrong. He calls her violent and negative while playing the victim. The ex claims he used to hit her and slept with her when Tenzen wasn’t around. Tenzen feels confused and lost: is her anger wrong? She also discloses childhood sexual abuse, parental neglect, and exposure to domestic violence. She fears losing relationships and never finding love. She didn’t list everything that went wrong, and though she doubts this relationship is right, she recognizes she rushed in and believes he’s still entangled with his ex, using her as an emotional cushion. She asks for help. Thank you.
Now, let’s unpack what Tenzen has revealed. Her anger is not unfounded—her account paints a chaotic and unsafe household. It seems she entered a relationship while he was still entangled with his ex; that was a red flag she may later regret. Going forward, a clear boundary to protect your future is to limit romantic involvement to people who are fully free, available, and genuinely committed to bringing positive things to your life. Being from another country increased vulnerability—long-distance beginnings and rushing into marriage complicated the situation.
You pointed out early red flags: possessiveness, insecurity, oversensitivity—traits that often don’t evaporate when you move in together. People frequently rationalize that these problems will improve, but behaviors shown early in a relationship tend to persist; first impressions matter. The husband’s escalating coercion around sex, shaming language, walking out mid-intimacy, and pressuring her to perform sexual acts constitute a crossing of boundaries and are abusive. Even if arguments happen in the heat of the moment, repeated coercion and shaming reveal someone who is not capable of genuinely respecting and caring for another person. The fact that she became severely depressed and physically ill because of the relationship, that her dad advised calling the police, and that she felt forced into the marriage are all further signs that this relationship harmed her wellbeing.
When he served divorce papers without negotiating alimony and showed contempt, her family’s reaction shifted—sometimes financial leverage prompts people to pay attention. The excuse that therapy was not possible because they had to “work on themselves” sounds more like an avoidance or excuse than a real barrier to couples therapy. Whether or not therapy would have helped, she still has an exit. She has education and skills and can build self-sufficiency; she simply hasn’t found her footing yet. Isolation is prominent in her story. Her anger is natural and trying to alert her that she’s not safe. The ex’s manipulative emails and the husband’s pattern of treating women as disposable point to a broader pattern—not one-off mistakes but a pattern of boundary violations.
Financial dependence and insecurity make leaving harder, but those are practical problems that can be addressed with support and planning. The sexual coercion, name-calling, humiliation, and refusal to negotiate when she left are all abusive behaviors. Throwing a pillow or hitting him with a pillow reflect understandable frustration, but that doesn’t invalidate her anger; rather, it shows the emotional peril of staying in a toxic environment. Frequently, people in abusive relationships try to reason with an abuser, asking them to see the validity of their feelings; in many cases, abusers cannot control their rage and are not capable of responding constructively. The truth in Tenzen’s letter is obvious: her fear, confusion, and immobilization come from the threat of losing housing, safety, and love. There is courage to be found in facing the truth.
If you’re experiencing coercive behavior and manipulation, consider reaching out for help—women’s shelters, a domestic violence hotline, trusted friends, or organizations that support survivors. Sexual coercion and repeated pressure amount to abuse. You have done brave things—leaving, returning after hearings, trying to protect a child—and you deserve support to leave safely when you decide to do so. Your anger is signaling danger and the need to protect yourself. The most important thing is your safety and recovery. Build a plan, gather resources, and find people you can trust.
Next, another woman—I’ll call her Freddy—wrote in with a different but related crisis: after a lifetime of appearing calm and composed, she now experiences extreme meltdowns and intense emotional dysregulation that she did not used to have. She describes a rupture with her relationship with her 35-year-old son, who has told her he never felt loved or deeply connected to her and that her life choices ruined his childhood, contributing to his own anxiety and depression. Freddy has been pushed to examine herself and search for healing because she realizes she can’t help her son unless she heals herself.
From her earliest memories, Freddy never felt she belonged, not even in her family. She struggled to form connections, even with those closest to her. When she first heard about childhood PTSD—or complex PTSD—it resonated immediately. She had already been researching conditions like Asperger’s, narcissism, and bipolar disorder to try to make sense of her life when she discovered videos that pointed toward childhood trauma as the root of her experience.
The youngest of four, Freddy’s parents were both alcoholics and her mother married more than ten times. Freddy was raised with a narrative that her older siblings were more legitimate because they belonged to her mother’s first husband; her father was the third husband, and she had no relationship with his relatives. Her mother named her after her father—giving her a masculine name, and regularly sent her alone to see that father on Sundays. Those visits were painful: he sometimes told her to go home, would leave when he saw her, called her “just like my no-good mother,” accused her of trying to get money, and told her he loved children only as a generalized affection, not as a special bond for his own children. Around age nine he told Freddy she wasn’t his biological child and that she should ask her mother about it. Years later she took a DNA test and discovered that her biological father was actually her mother’s first husband, who had died at 42 when she was six. The worst childhood memory, she says, was being kept away from that man on his deathbed, because her mother insisted she “wasn’t his child.” That lie had been carried for decades.
Her mother had a habit of disappearing—sometimes leaving the children with others and not returning for days or weeks—and when the children were left behind, the people caring for them treated them harshly. They were scolded for taking food or for being burdens; they were labeled “riffraff.” Growing up lonely and without friends, Freddy witnessed significant sexual and physical abuse in the family, which traumatized her, even if she didn’t experience some of the abuse directly. At 14, an older boy pressured her sexually; she felt unable to refuse and was coerced into sex. When she asked her mother for help, the only response was that she would get birth control. Her mother then told her she had to move out; she panicked and her boyfriend offered to marry her so she wouldn’t be homeless. Her mother celebrated this escape because it relieved her of responsibility. The marriage was to a man who became a drug addict and was severely abusive: he prevented her from finishing school, forbade family contact, locked her in the house, and regularly raped her. She had her first child near her sixteenth birthday. She did not have any support and lived in severe deprivation—her baby lacked basic necessities and she was prevented from getting prenatal care during a second pregnancy. She remained in that marriage for the sake of her children.
When that husband left, she returned to school, got a job, and bought a house. She later married an older man who treated them well; she believed love could grow over time and accepted his values and character rather than passion. Over the years, though, he became increasingly cruel to her and to the children. Eventually he left; when he did, her mother reverted to earlier negative behaviors and the mother-daughter “best friend” bond dissolved. Later, around the time of her divorce, Freddy met her current husband and fell deeply in love for the first time. But she began having intense emotional eruptions—anger outbursts and grief that felt like a deep, soul-level bitterness. She loves him, yet her meltdowns and the emotional damage from her past have begun to sabotage the relationship. She is grateful to have found resources to help her understand and heal.
This is a crisis that’s come to a head: childhood trauma, years of abuse and neglect, and later abusive relationships have layered up into severe emotional dysregulation—what sounds like complex PTSD and emotional flashbacks. If the meltdowns are harming her relationships, she needs specialized help from clinicians who understand childhood trauma. One recommended resource is the book Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving by Pete Walker, a therapist who explains emotional flashbacks and cPTSD clearly. Another immediate step is to begin consistent practices that help regulate emotion—daily structured practices, writing techniques for processing resentment and fear, and guided meditations. These tools can create the space to think clearly, to decide whether to seek therapy, which therapist to choose, and how to protect and repair relationships.
Freddy’s son is justified in his pain: his childhood was hard, and he perceives that choices made by his mother caused lasting harm. Yet context matters—Freddy was a teen mother, trapped in abuse, with little access to help or escape. Not leaving an abusive situation is a common trauma response; it doesn’t mean she was callous or unloving. She did eventually leave, pursued education, and built a life for her children. Healing will help both her and potentially her son—when she works on her trauma, she can understand and offer the empathy and accountability he needs while also learning to respond more calmly and effectively in their relationship.
Practical supports like Al-Anon or other 12-step groups, therapeutic treatment for cPTSD and emotional regulation, regular daily practice, and community support can be transformative. These help people move from being overwhelmed by pain and shame to being able to process it and choose healthier responses. A combination of tools—therapy, peer support, writing and meditation practices—offers both the techniques and the daily encouragement needed to stay with the difficult process. Healing often brings unexpected benefits: stronger friendships, a clearer sense of self, and the ability to handle life’s conflicts more gracefully.
Freddy mentions having a masculine name; she chose the label Frederick or “Freddy” as a pseudonym here. An immediate, free intervention is a structured daily practice course that combines a precise writing technique with a short meditation—these are designed specifically for people recovering from childhood trauma and emotional dysregulation. They’re not just generic journaling; they are targeted exercises that help remove the mental jam of fear and resentment so you can see what’s really going on and take sane, effective action.
When childhood trauma is present, simply encouraging someone to “get in touch with their anger” can be dangerous, especially if that person already carries a barely-contained rage or irritability inherited from their upbringing. Complex trauma often leads to emotional dysregulation: moods can spike from low to intense quickly, and what feels appropriate in the moment may look like an overreaction later. Habitual anger, especially when used unconsciously as a way to lift oneself out of depression, can become destructive—like a drug. The trick is distinguishing healthy, useful anger from dysregulated anger that harms relationships and life.
Personal experience illustrates this. Growing up around volatile, alcohol-fueled anger led to a deep fear of anger in oneself, but not to an absence of anger. As therapy and exploration continued, genuine, justified anger emerged at first, but then an unhealthy, dissociated fury developed—smashing things and acting out—until a shift toward different tools helped regulate and release harsh emotions more safely. The change came by learning techniques that allowed the emotions to be expressed and discharged without escalating into destructive behavior. Writing and releasing the resentments quietly, then using a guided release, restored clarity and created the capacity to take constructive action.
Think about emotions on a vertical scale: the bottom is numbness or deadness, above that is depression, and higher up is anger and rage. For someone stuck in depression, generating anger can feel like progress because it moves you upward on that scale—gives energy and motion. That’s why anger often feels like a breakthrough. But anger is not the solution—unless it quickly transforms into clarity and actionable steps, it will eventually take you back down the scale into depression. The useful path is to use anger as a signal that something needs attention, to get the fear and resentment out on paper, and then to release it so you can think straight and act appropriately.
The technique that helped most effectively is this: put fears and resentments on paper in a specific format, ask for them to be removed (spiritually or symbolically—if a spiritual frame doesn’t fit, write a release statement), and combine the writing with a short meditation. This writing-and-release method is the center of a healing practice that reduces the mental clutter and allows for clearer decision-making. Once the internal noise is lessened, it becomes much easier to discern whether anger needs to be acted on or simply acknowledged and released. With that clarity, one can protect oneself, walk away, or work to repair relationships as appropriate.
People often fear that losing their anger will leave them defenseless; the opposite tends to be true. When resentments and fears crowd the mind, it’s hard to see what’s happening. Clearing those thoughts allows for clear recognition of when someone is genuinely attacking you and when the distress arises from internalized trauma. With a clearer mind, you can act responsibly—protect yourself, set boundaries, or choose to stay and work things out if that’s what you genuinely want.
Childhood PTSD frequently produces a low-grade chronic irritability that makes a person harsh and critical. When this isn’t processed, it often gets targeted at the people closest to you. That’s why healing is both an act of self-care and an act of compassion toward loved ones—they don’t deserve the harshness produced by unresolved trauma. Some people’s anger is justified and necessary to leave abusive situations, but for many survivors the lingering pain of the past causes disproportionate resentment toward people who are not the source of the original harm.
A reader I’ll call Jill sent a letter raising another set of family dynamics. She is 47, divorced, raising a four-year-old not fathered by her ex, and she’s the youngest of three. Her parents split when she was in first or second grade, but she maintained a loving relationship with her father. Her plan is to move back home this summer to live with her mother and stepfather while she saves money. Jill describes her mother as the archetype of codependence—low self-esteem, people-pleasing, passive-aggressive—whose indecisiveness is a primary trigger for Jill. Her mother recently disclosed childhood and relationship traumas and Jill now suspects her mother may have cPTSD. Jill recounts how her mother married a man who made the family uncomfortable: he had no stable job, was an ex-drug addict, and seemed beneath her standards. Family members disliked him but her mother remained committed; eventually they married. Now he is elderly, ill with dementia and COPD, and her mother clings to an ideal of a harmonious “Brady Bunch” family that Jill finds unrealistic.
Jill resents being her mother’s emotional confidante, caregiver, housekeeper, and substitute spouse. She worries about becoming enmeshed in the same patterns she criticizes: she sees herself as a “carbon copy” of her mother, minus some traits. Her mother can be jealous, and when Jill makes positive changes—new haircut, new dress, major weight loss—the mother expresses interest in those things in ways Jill interprets as envy. Her mother micromanages and has a demanding, entitled attitude about help around the house; Jill wants to preserve her own life and freedom—going out on weekends, staying on the phone after 9 PM, and not always cooking for her mother’s husband. The family history includes the mother’s remarriage to a man many family members never accepted, and a sister who left the family during middle school because of the painful home dynamics. Jill is now asking how to set healthy, age-appropriate boundaries with her mother while preserving the relationship—and she fears losing control during holiday-triggered passive-aggressive episodes.
Looking closely at Jill’s situation, several points stand out. Her parents’ divorce at a young age and her father’s absence shaped her loyalties and perceptions. The mother’s marriage to a man the family considered unworthy created an ongoing tension. It’s understandable for children of divorced families to feel loyalty to the absent parent and to resent the new partner, especially if the new partner’s behavior or status was not acceptable by their standards. But in Jill’s letter there’s no allegation that the stepfather abused her; the animosity toward him seems rooted in the fact that he is not their biological father, that he didn’t meet their social expectations, and that their mother pressed the children to be friendly and respectful toward him. Those dynamics fostered long-term bitterness.
Jill intends to move back into her mother’s home as an adult. That is a significant choice that comes with expectations: when you live in someone’s house you generally adhere to their rules and help out. Her mother’s requests for basic politeness—saying goodbye, demonstrating manners—were reasonable. When Jill describes being told to say goodbye to the stepfather or face having new school clothes returned, that reflects parental attempts to shape behavior. As an adult, Jill will need to negotiate boundaries respectfully: saying “I need some time to myself in the evenings” or “I’m happy to help with certain tasks but not others” is an adult way of asserting needs without turning the household into a battleground.
When a mother is elderly and caregiving for a sick partner, resentment and grief are common. This might be a time for compassion rather than conflict. Jill has concerns about becoming enmeshed and playing a caregiver-role that suffocates her independence—and those are legitimate boundaries to maintain—but there’s also a practical and emotional opportunity to show up for her mother during a difficult season. Helping her mother in ways that don’t violate Jill’s own needs—setting limits about when she helps, agreeing on specific tasks, and asking for mutual respect—can preserve both support and autonomy.
If the relationship triggers cPTSD symptoms, Jill’s own practice and regulation tools will be essential. Use the daily practice or other grounding techniques to manage triggers so she can be present without being overwhelmed. It can be profoundly healing to supply care and companionship to an elderly parent—if it’s done from a place of choice rather than compulsion. A practical assignment to shift perspective might be to spend an hour listening to the stepfather, asking about his life, and hearing what draws him and the mother together. That simple act of curiosity can humanize him, reduce resentment, and give Jill a chance to see why her mother values him. Small compassionate gestures go a long way when someone is lonely or ill, and they often transform strained relationships.
Jill should also accept that living at home requires reciprocation. If she expects to stay rent-free or to get support, she ought to contribute—household chores, caregiving, or shared expenses—according to what feels fair and sustainable. If she’s afraid of enmeshment, set firm, agreed-upon boundaries and schedule time for her own life. If her mother’s demands feel controlling, practice assertive but kind statements: “I’m happy to help with dinner twice a week, but I won’t be the primary cook every night.” If she feels micromanaged, a calm conversation about roles and expectations can help. Keep practicing daily regulation methods to avoid reactive confrontations.
Finally, remember that resentment toward family members who make different life choices is common. Your mother’s choice of partner, however unorthodox, has supported her in some way—she’s found companionship and a caregiver in later life. An opportunity to heal might exist in softening toward them while protecting your own autonomy. If you cannot meet her expectations for respect and participation, reconsider whether moving back is the best option. If you do move back, come prepared: establish boundaries in advance, offer clear terms for help, and use your regulation tools daily to stay steady. Showing up with curiosity and kindness may surprise you; it may also be a profound chance for reconciliation and growth.
In sum: anger is legitimate when it signals danger or injustice, but unresolved trauma can distort and amplify anger until it becomes destructive. The path to healthier expression lies in regulated techniques—structured writing, release practices, meditation, and supportive therapy—that quiet the inner noise so you can act with clarity and integrity. Whether you’re Tenzen, Freddy, Jill, or someone else reading, there is hope. With the right tools, support, and boundaries, it’s possible to protect yourself, heal the wounds of the past, and build safer, more loving connections in the present. If you’re dealing with abuse or severe dysregulation, seek professional help and community support. If you’re in a position to give care, do so from a place of choice and self-protection, not from guilt or compulsion. Above all, cultivate practices that help you notice triggers, discharge built-up anguish safely, and return to clear, considered action—so you can live in a way that honors both your emotional truth and your long-term wellbeing.