I Thought I Was Just Angry—Turns Out, I Was Grieving

I used to walk around with a chip on my shoulder. Snapping at people, cutting them off, staying ready for a fight. I thought I was just angry. That was the word I used: angry.

But in therapy, I said something that surprised even me. I said, "I think I’m just mad all the time." And my counselor looked at me and said, "That sounds like grief."

Grief?

That caught me off guard. But the more I sat with it, the more it made sense. I wasn’t just mad at the world. I was grieving everything I lost and everything I never had.

When I was a child my grandmother took me home from the hospital. My grandmother raised me. I couldn’t understand why I had to live with my grandparents and not with my mom.  Although, my mom came to visit me.  I felt abandoned and alone. Treated differently by members of my family.

And in that kind of environment, you don’t cry. You don’t complain. You survive.

I started telling myself that I was strong. That I could take it. But what I didn’t realize was that I was burying grief so deep, it started showing up in other ways. I got defensive. I cut people off. I told myself I didn’t need anyone. But deep down, I was hurting.

One time I lashed out at a coworker over something small. I knew it was a bigger reaction than the moment called for, but I couldn’t stop myself. Later, when I talked to my therapist about it, she asked me what I was really feeling at that moment. And without thinking, I said, "I felt like nobody hears me. Like I don’t matter."

And there it was. Grief.

Grief for the little girl who lost her father. Grief for the teenager who had to protect herself.

Grief for the woman who kept trying to earn love that should’ve been freely given.

It didn’t look like sobbing in the corner. It looked like shutting down. Being extra helpful. Being distant. Or blowing up over something that wasn’t even about what was really going on.

But once I named it—once I gave myself permission to say, "That hurt me" and "I needed more than I got"—God started to heal it.

God didn’t rush me through that process. He didn’t tell me to get over it or move on. He sat with me in it. He reminded me that my tears weren’t weakness. They were evidence that I was finally feeling the truth.

Healing didn’t come overnight. It came through therapy. Through journaling. Through being honest in prayer. Through moments of silence where I let God hold what I couldn’t even speak.

So if you feel like you’re angry all the time, I want to ask you: Could it be grief? Could it be heartbreak underneath the heat? Could your soul be asking you to stop surviving and start healing?

Because God can handle your grief. He can sit with your sorrow. He doesn’t need you to perform strength. He wants you to be whole.

That’s what He’s doing for me. One truth at a time. One tear at a time. One memory at a time.

He saved me. And He keeps meeting me in my grief.