From Courage to Change of Aug 24:
I’m usually such a gentle, easy-going person that you’d never believe what happens when I get angry. I fly into a rage, my blood pressure seems to double, and I unleash a torrent of profanity. After years in Al-Anon, my anger is still a problem, but my behavior has greatly improved.
Some time ago my dog got its feet tangled in an extension cord and broke a beautiful vase. My temper flared, and angry words cut like sharp swords. What helped me to change this behavior was the look of hurt and bewilderment on my pet’s face at the sudden, violent change in me. If a little animal could respond this way, what were my outbursts doing to the people in my life who understood every nasty word?
Today’s Reminder
I am human and I get angry, but I don’t have to act out my anger in destructive ways. I do not have the right to take it out on others. Whether my usual response is to scream, sulk in cold silence, or lash out with cruel words, today I can look at what I do when I get mad. Maybe next time I will try something new.
“We can pave the way for calm, reasonable communication only if we first find healthy outlets for our own negative feelings.” ~ The Dilemma of the Alcoholic Marriage
END OF QUOTE—————————————
There was a time when I truly believed I had a gift—a superpower, even. I could walk through the minefield of family dysfunction with a kind of eerie calm. When the shouting began, when the air grew sharp with rage or shame, I didn’t cry, didn’t scream, didn’t break.
I neutralized.
It felt like survival magic. I shut down emotion like flipping a breaker switch. And later, in the echo chamber of adulthood, I carried that same skill like a weapon hidden in my coat. Smiling when I was shattered. Nodding through the heat. Telling myself I was strong because I didn’t flinch.
But silence is not strength. It is delay.
The emotion never disappeared. It gathered. Like steam in a sealed kettle. And when it finally released—when someone pushed a little too hard or life asked too much—I erupted. And it was messy. It was disproportionate. It was terrifying. Not just for them—for me.
I thought I was protecting others from my chaos.
But really, I was disowning the most vital parts of myself.
What I’ve come to understand in recovery is this:
Emotions don’t vanish when ignored. They metastasize.
I was trying to outsmart pain instead of processing it.
Trying to stay safe instead of growing up.
And the real heartbreak? The villain I designed this defense to battle—whether it was a parent, a partner, a past trauma—they were no longer present. But the pattern remained. The withdrawal. The inner coldness. The explosive relapses of rage. I had become the very energy I once vowed to purge.
That’s the moment I knew I wasn’t protecting myself anymore—I was imprisoning myself.
Today, I choose another way.
I let my emotions speak—without dictating my behavior.
I let my anger rise—without turning it into destruction.
I acknowledge my sadness—without needing to drown in it.
I name what I feel so that I don’t have to punish others for not guessing.
This is the work of recovery. Not to silence emotion, but to integrate it.
To feel without fear. To express without harm.
To let anger serve connection, not sever it.
Step Ten helps me watch my patterns in real time. Not to shame myself, but to redirect the current before it floods the house. I am not here to pretend I am above anger. I am here to learn how to be honest within it—and to make it safe for others to be honest with me.
So maybe next time, I’ll try something new.
Maybe I’ll speak. Breathe. Take a walk. Write a prayer. Cry.
Not because I’ve lost my superpower.
But because I’ve finally chosen something better:
A soul unarmored. A voice returned. A connection restored.
“Gooooosfraaaabaa…” ~ Dr. Buddy Rydell in Anger Management (2003)
Daily Reprieve 
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