Last updated on November 6, 2025
I’ve been getting a lot more careful lately about what makes me mad.
Mad used to come easy for me. I was a natural. It was my first line of defense, my emotional default, my way of declaring, “This is not okay.” I could stomp my little feet, cross my arms with conviction, and spit out adjectives like a PEZ dispenser. I made righteous anger look like an Olympic sport. And honestly, it felt good… at least for a moment.
There was something oddly satisfying about it, like I was doing something about whatever injustice I had just decided was mine to carry. It made me feel powerful. Present. Awake.
But somewhere along the way, I realized something uncomfortable.
Everything was making me mad.
Traffic. Emails. Bad drivers. Political headlines. A forgotten text message. Someone’s tone of voice. A stranger’s comment on social media. If I slowed down long enough to notice, I was walking around simmering all day long. I had become a slow cooker of irritation, stewing in frustration and calling it “being engaged with life.”
It hit me one day during a quiet moment that I was tired. Not the kind of tired a nap could fix. A soul-tired that came from being in a constant state of reaction. And when I got honest with myself, I saw what was really going on.
Being mad had become my easy button.
It was the place I could go when I didn’t want to feel helpless. It gave me a rush, a false sense of control, a reason to avoid the harder thing: actually doing something useful with the energy.
Because that’s the tricky part about anger—it feels like action, but often, it’s just a distraction.
So I made a deal with myself. From now on, if I’m going to be mad about something, it has to be something I can actually change, influence, or participate in. If it’s not, I have to let it go.
For example, if I’m mad about the local animal shelter being under-resourced, I can take action. I can write a check, drop off old blankets, share a fundraiser, or show up to volunteer. Suddenly that anger becomes momentum. It turns into compassion. The fire gets repurposed into light.
But if I’m mad about something I cannot change—say, the price of airline tickets or how someone chooses to live their life or the current state of the internet—then I have to ask myself a new question: “Do I really want to give my peace away for this?”
That question alone has saved me more times than I can count.
It’s not about becoming passive. It’s not about denying emotion or putting a fake smile on something that genuinely hurts. It’s about becoming aware of what emotions are actually for. Anger is data. It’s information. It tells us what matters to us. But when we don’t move it, when we let it fester, it becomes poison.
It starts to shape our worldview. It begins to teach our nervous system that tension is normal. That everyone is against us. That we’re always the victim of something. And once that story takes hold, the world starts to feel sharp around the edges. Everyone becomes a threat. Every inconvenience becomes a personal offense.
That’s not a life I want to live.
And that’s not a life I want for you either.
Because here’s the truth I’m learning over and over: every moment we spend in misplaced anger is a moment we could have spent in peace, in purpose, in presence.
The next time you feel that familiar fire rising, I invite you to pause. Just for a beat. Ask yourself, “Is there something I can do here? Something real, even small?” If the answer is yes, take that action. Send the email. Sign the petition. Write the check. Make the phone call. Say the thing that needs saying. Let your anger become fuel for change.
But if the answer is no, if the only thing your anger wants is your energy, your time, your well-being—then maybe it’s time to release it. Maybe it’s time to say, “I see you, but you don’t get to drive today.”
It’s not easy, I know. But it’s worth it.
Because I’ve found something unexpected on the other side of that habit. When I stopped using anger as my emotional security blanket, something else started to grow in its place. More clarity. More energy. More peace.
And the best part? When I do get mad now, it means something. It’s rare. It’s focused. It’s potent. It reminds me what I care about. And instead of sitting in the stew, I get up and cook something useful.
So maybe you’re like me. Maybe anger has been your go-to response for a long time. I get it. But maybe, just maybe, there’s a better way.
What if being mad wasn’t your story anymore? What if the real strength came from choosing what gets your energy—and what doesn’t?
You don’t have to give up your fire. Just aim it where it makes a difference.
Be Well,
Leslie
About the Author
Leslie Nance is a Holistic Cancer Coach, Certified Holistic Nutritionist, speaker, and author. She helps women heal with clarity, courage, and soul. Writing and teaching about mindset, wellness, and living a life that feels as good on the inside as it looks on the outside.
