The Truth About My Anger
I lied to my friend last week. Not intentionally, but I lied all the same.
I was having coffee with an old friend that I haven’t seen in about ten years. In that time, we’ve both discovered our Autism. Side note: that tidbit, I believe, partially explains why I always liked him so much and felt so comfortable with him without even knowing why. During our conversation, he asked me about my anger and how I deal with it now compared to before. I told him I really don't get mad anymore. The words came out so easily, so confidently. But the next morning, as I sat thinking about the state of the world—deportations, women dying from miscarriages, the way disabled people are still treated like afterthoughts, workplace bullying that goes unchecked, people arguing in defense of people and parties that are equally flawed and dangerous, folks practically CHARGING MONEY for friendship and connection—I felt that familiar fire in my chest.
And I realized: I absolutely still get angry. It's just... different now. Completely different.
The Old Anger: Survival Mode
Let me be real about who I used to be. My anger used to be a weapon—sharp, immediate, and sometimes violent. When my ex-husband would get physically abusive, I'd fight back with everything I had. Sometimes I'd even go looking for bar fights, craving that release of rage that felt like it might explode me from the inside if I didn't let it out. My own sister will tell you that she used to be scared of me. I was never physically violent with her, but my temper was fierce.
That anger was pure survival instinct mixed with something uglier—a selfish, self-centered fury that demanded immediate satisfaction. I thought it was just who I was, some fundamental character flaw that made me more aggressive, more volatile than other people. I was ashamed of it, but I also wore it proudly. Bragged about it even, because it made me seem tough. Fun fact: I am not now, nor have I ever been, tough.
What I didn't know then was that most of those explosive moments probably weren't really anger at all. They were autistic meltdowns—my nervous system hitting overload, and my brain scrambling for any way to make the overwhelm stop. Before my autism diagnosis, I had no framework for understanding why certain situations would send me from zero to violent in seconds. I just knew I was "bad at controlling my temper."
The New Anger: A Different Fire
The anger I feel now burns completely differently. It's not about me protecting myself anymore—it's about protecting others, about systems that are broken, about injustices that keep me awake at night. When I see families torn apart by deportation, when I watch disabled people fight for basic accessibility, when I witness workplace trauma being dismissed or ignored, that fire still rises in my chest.
But instead of exploding outward, it settles into something deeper. A sad reflectiveness. The old anger demanded immediate physical release; this new anger asks me to sit with it, to understand it, to let it teach me something.
What Changed Everything
Age and Wisdom: I used to think being right and winning were the same thing. I'd react from anger—quick, defensive, focused on proving my point or defending my territory. Now I try not to respond from anger, but to take time to understand what the feeling is really telling me, using it as information rather than ammunition. Physical violence, I've learned, is often just emotional immaturity wearing a tough mask. Let’s be honest, verbal violence (including keyboard bullying) is the same. I digress. But when I was throwing punches, I was really trying to protect something that felt fundamentally unsafe inside me.
My Relationship with God: This has been huge. I used to be driven by selfish, worldly gain—what could I get, how could I win, how could I prove I mattered? Now my goal is letting God's love shine through me, which, for me, means extending grace and mercy even when I'm angry. Especially when I'm angry. It's taught me that anger can be righteous without being destructive.
Understanding My Autism: Everything makes sense now. That’s another lie. Not EVERYTHING, but MORE things. And more every day. Those explosive reactions weren't character flaws—they were my nervous system crying for help. Now that I understand my sensory and emotional processing, I can, more often than not, catch the overwhelm before it becomes a meltdown. I can recognize when my anger is actually overstimulation, exhaustion, or the frustration of being misunderstood.
How I Handle Anger Now
When that familiar fire starts rising, I've learned to pause. I sit with it for days sometimes, thinking about the situation from different angles. I research, I fact-check my feelings, and I try to understand the other person's thought process and motivations.
I ask myself: Have I ever done or said similar things? If so, why? What was driving me then? This introspection doesn't excuse harmful behavior, but it helps me respond from a place of understanding rather than pure reaction.
Art has become a huge part of my processing, too. Sometimes I need to scribble out the frustration, paint the injustice, or create something that holds the complexity of what I'm feeling when words aren't enough.
For My Fellow Humans (Especially My ND Family)
If you're reading this and recognizing yourself in the "old anger" description, please know that explosive anger reactions might not be character flaws. They might be your nervous system asking for help, your brain trying to cope with overwhelm in the only way it knows how.
Understanding this doesn't excuse harmful behavior, but it does give you a starting point for change. When we know better, we can do better.
Some things that have helped me:
Learning my sensory triggers and early warning signs
Creating space between feeling angry and responding to it
Using physical creation (art, writing, movement) instead of physical destruction
Asking "What is this anger trying to protect?" instead of just reacting to it
Remembering that other people are usually doing their best with the tools they have
The Truth About Transformation
I told my friend I don't get angry anymore because the way I experience and express anger has changed so fundamentally that it barely feels like the same emotion. The old anger was about survival and self-protection. The new anger is about love—love for justice, for the vulnerable, for the society I want to help create.
Both are valid. Both served their purpose. But I'm grateful to be living from this deeper, more purposeful place now.
Maybe that's what real growth looks like—not the absence of difficult emotions, but a complete transformation in how we let them move through us and what we choose to do with their energy.
The fire is still there. It just burns for different reasons now.
What's your relationship with anger been like?
Has it changed as you've grown or learned more about yourself?
I'd love to hear about your growth—or your questions about navigating this complex emotion.
Tools That Might Help
Download the Sensory Reset Toolkit
Check out my coaching program for burnout recovery
Browse my blog archive on unmasking, identity, and ND healing
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About the Author
Gal is an autistic artist, late-diagnosed at 49, and the creator of AuRTistic Expressions—a space where neurodivergent truth meets creative survival. Through blog posts, printables, courses, and the “This Might Get Messy” podcast, Gal explores what it means to unmask safely, communicate authentically, and make art that doesn’t ask for permission. Stick around—there’s plenty more where this came from.
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