Anger: "Fear’s Bodyguard"

Why Is Everyone So Angry? From National Tragedy to Personal Fear

There’s a saying in recovery: “The good news is you get your feelings back. The bad news is you get your feelings back.”

Feelings were difficult for me most of my life. Growing up, I was told not to feel what I was feeling or even show it—especially sadness. The one exception was anger. Anger was allowed, and it dominated our house. I feared it, and to this day I soften the word with euphemisms: “out of sorts,” “in a mood,” “a bit off.”

But lately, anger has been flaring everywhere I turn—from my smartphone feed to conversations to road rage on the streets. Its heat is sharp, disruptive, and impossible to ignore.

Since becoming sober, my anger has usually softened too—like moving from a forest fire to the small ignition flame of a stove. But lately, with the flames in the outside world burning so steadily, they’ve begun to jump the fire line into my own life.

Just recently, they seared me from the inside out.

The Perfect Storm

For months, I’ve poured myself into twelve-hour days building the foundation of my business. Most mornings, gratitude sets the tone and I wake with a smile. But exhaustion has a way of cracking the veneer, and last week it finally did.

On September 10, Charlie Kirk was shot. The next morning—September 11—I woke already heavy, scrolling my iPhone, story after story about both the shooting and the grim anniversary filling my feed. Facing a long day of draining mental work, I leashed up our dog Frisco and stepped outside for our daily walk.

The air was cool, the sky a flawless September blue—sharp enough to remind me of that other perfect September day, etched forever in memory. Still fighting for some serenity, I paused as my neighbor’s 7-year-old daughter walked by with her mom. In a crystal-sweet voice, tinged with sadness, she said: “Mommy, a man was shot yesterday… and he died.”

It knocked the wind out of me. Tears welled, the sapphire sky blurring with my own blue eyes. My routine morning ritual wasn’t routine anymore. I headed back inside, hung up the leash, gave one of the cats a quick pat, and plodded upstairs to my office—willing myself back into rhythm.

When Anger Writes the Story

Despite the distraction of work, by midday the morning’s news, the anniversary, and the child’s words still weighed on me. I sent emails to my professional circle, reaching for connection. Silence answered back. My stomach clenched, my chest tightened, and my heart pounded, a sudden headache throbbing in time with it. Sensing my body’s stress, my brain stacked kindling: They should respond to my emails. I shouldn’t be ignored. And when the match struck, the fire roared to life.

Looking for support—and fuel—I phoned Barry to vent about what was being “done to me.” He listened and kindly said, “I don’t blame you for feeling that way.” His words were meant to soothe, but they acted like gasoline. I felt justified. I felt strong. I felt vindicated.

In my head, the story was clear: I was the wronged damsel, everyone else the villains. What began as a small misunderstanding spiraled into a saga.

And yet, beneath the blaze, a strange unease smoldered. If I was so right, why did it feel so wrong? Why did I feel so bad?

The RETURN Breakthrough

Luckily, five years of inner work, 12-step meetings, and sobriety have given me tools. Knowing I was in a bad space, I paused and reset. I breathed into my anger and fear and remembered Bill Wilson’s warning about justifiable anger—that it’s a “luxury” an alcoholic “couldn’t afford.”

That reminder drove me to use my RETURN Method to uncover what was really fueling my emotions. After a few minutes, I was able to sift through the embers and look beneath the fire. There I found some scripts from my past:

• They don’t care.

• I don’t matter.

• I’m not important.

Not truths—just old stories, echoes of a childhood where anger was the only safe emotion. Underneath it all sat fear: fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, and buried deepest, the belief I was worthless and valueless.

That’s when it clicked: anger wasn’t the root at all. It was fear, disguised as fire.

Naming these fears felt cooling, like pouring water on the flames. As I called them out, the fire fizzled, and I could finally breathe again.

Anger as Fear’s Bodyguard

In recovery, we say FEAR stands for False Evidence Appearing Real. That’s what my anger was—old lies masquerading as fact.

Psychology confirms what I experienced: anger often serves as a shield for vulnerable feelings like fear, anxiety, or sadness. When we feel threatened, insecure, or dismissed, anger can act like armor—a bodyguard protecting what feels raw and undefended.

It gives a false sense of strength, even power, but at the cost of connection and clarity.

Psychologist Harriet Lerner reminds us: “Anger is a signal, and one worth listening to—just as physical pain tells us to take our hand off the hot stove.” Neuroscience shows anger and fear light up the same part of the brain—the amygdala. The amygdala doesn’t pause to reflect; it reacts. That’s why anger feels immediate and justified—it’s easier to lash out than to sit with fear. I explored this pattern in Smoke Signals, where I wrote about how alcohol and other addictions are just smoke—the fire underneath is always fear. [Link here]

Why Anger Feels So Convincing

No wonder anger feels so convincing. Aristotle described it as “a desire, accompanied by pain, for apparent revenge for an apparent slight.” In Buddhist thought, anger is “the near enemy of wisdom”—it looks like clarity but actually clouds perception.

Research shows anger narrows our focus, making us more confident in our judgments while blinding us to other perspectives. That false sense of certainty is seductive—it convinces us our version of the story is the only one.

The Epidemic of Anger

It isn’t just personal anymore. Anger saturates our culture—road rage, social media, politics—like wildfire jumping from one life to the next. When personal stress collides with public tragedy, it’s no wonder so many of us are snapping, raging, or convinced we’re right.

Gallup’s Global Emotions Report found that more than one-third of adults worldwide said they felt angry “a lot” the previous day—an all-time high. Beneath the shouting, most of us are really running on fear, not just frustration.

My own flare-up taught me something about society’s, too. From the killing of Charlie Kirk to two cars I recently saw on the highway reenacting a scene from Death Race 2000, anger is often just fear in armor. With all the scary things on the news, we’re all putting on our anger shield to protect ourselves.

What I’m Learning

Anger isn’t the truth—it’s a messenger. It points to fear, to old wounds, to stories that still ache for healing.

In sobriety, that pause between fire and reaction is everything. It’s where I refuse the old scripts and return to truth. It’s where I choose peace over resentment, where tools like my RETURN method help me dig beneath the flames to find what’s really driving them.

The good news? I got my feelings back.The better news? I am learning what to do with them—writing new stories in the ashes.

✨ Want to explore what’s really underneath your anger or fear? To uncover your old stories—and learn how to rewrite them? This is exactly the work we’ll dive into at my free virtual

Reveal the Story Workshop, Wednesday, September 17, 6–7:30 pm ET.

Save My Spot!