Making Friends with Anger
A reflection for spiritual companions and seekers alike
There is a kind of fire that burns clean.
Too often we are taught to fear anger. To suppress it, silence it, spiritualize it away. We are told that “good” people are calm, measured, forgiving, never furious. Especially those of us socialized to be caretakers—women, queer folks, BIPOC, disabled folks—we are often expected to bear injustice quietly, or at most with polite critique.
But righteous rage is sacred. It is holy energy. It says: this is not okay. It fuels resistance. It fuels change. And it can also fuel care.
When my mom was dying of cancer, I found myself filled with an anger that surprised me. Anger at the disease, at what it was stealing, at the helplessness of it all. But that fire lit something in me. It gave me the energy to speak brave, vulnerable words to her—words I might not have dared if I’d only stayed in grief or numbness.
Anger gave me the energy to show up for an abused elder, advocating for his safety and doing what needed to be done to remove him from the dangerous situation. That anger didn’t turn violent. It created boundaries. It was fierce love.
Anger doesn’t have to mean harm. In fact, when we repress it, that’s when it turns inwards—into shame, illness, bitterness. But when expressed wisely—at the right time, in the right way—it can open doors to healing and justice.
Sometimes I curse to myself—mutter sharp words, swear under my breath, or speak with a kind of fire that helps move the energy through me and out. It’s not always pretty, but it’s honest. These words are often born of a need to stay grounded, to give form to my anger so it doesn’t fester unspoken. Anger, after all, is movement—it wants expression, wants release. In those moments, I don’t fear the heat of my words. I let them rise, trusting that even rage can be sacred when it flows rather than festers.
And sometimes I joke that I want to cast a curse. But not a curse meant to cause misfortune or harm. No, the curses I imagine are acts of transformation. A spell like: “May you be filled with compassion.” Or: “May you feel how your words land on someone’s spirit.” Or: “May the next person you try to insult surprise you with their dignity.” These are the kinds of spells I want to send into the world—fierce and clear, rooted in care. They arise from a place where anger meets love, where the commitment to change burns just as hot as the outrage itself.
As spiritual companions, we often sit with those whose anger is tangled up in grief, trauma, or injustice. Our role is not to calm them down. Our role is to hold space for their fire, and help them discern how to use it. Anger might be the very thing that empowers someone to set a boundary, or to leave a toxic system, or to speak truth after a lifetime of silence.
May we give ourselves, and those we walk with, permission to feel angry.
May we learn to channel that energy into courageous compassion.
And may we honor the sacred fire—not to destroy, but to illuminate the path toward justice and wholeness.
Beloved, you are whole, holy, and worthy,
Rev. Amy
For Further Reading
- Spiritual Direction in Times of Crisis
On showing up when the world is falling apart—and how spiritual companionship can hold space for action and grief.
Why anger, boundaries, and non-harm all matter in spiritual direction—and how ethics are rooted in love.
https://abeltaine.blogspot.com/2025/03/ethical-spiritual-companioning.html?m=1
When anger arises from witnessing or participating in harm, moral injury invites us to seek repair, truth, and soul-deep integrity.
https://abeltaine.blogspot.com/2025/03/bearing-witness-to-moral-injury.html?m=1
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