Turning Anger into Fuel
There’s always something to be angry about (or frustrated or disheartened, or just plain worn out - that tension between what we hope for and what we actually experience).
It’s been that kind of week. I’ve felt angry. I’ve sat with clients who are angry. And I can’t get on social media without bumping into everyone else’s anger, too. It feels like most days bring another story, another meeting, another decision that makes us shake our heads. For those of us who care deeply — about people, about integrity, about things working the way they should — anger can start to feel like a steady hum under the surface. I think you probably know that feeling. Sometimes it fires you up. Sometimes it wears you out. But it’s there, buzzing.
Like all emotions, anger is energy. If we ignore it, it builds. If we let it run wild, it can burn things down. But if we can work with it — really work with it — I believe anger can become fuel. Not the kind that explodes, but the kind that can sustain us over time.
What We Usually Do With Anger
Most of us don’t handle anger all that skillfully — at least not at first. We vent, gossip, withdraw, get sarcastic, shut down, or double down. We talk about what’s wrong without ever getting to what hurts. We turn our anger inward and let it harden, or we send it outward and let it scorch.
Sometimes we confuse expressing anger with processing it, and sometimes we use it to feel powerful when we actually feel powerless. Sometimes we hang onto it because it feels easier than facing the grief or heartbreak or disappointment behind it all.
None of this makes us bad — it just makes us human. Anger is one of the hardest emotions to work with because it moves fast. It asks for an outlet, like a fire. But if we want it to become fuel instead of fire, we have to start noticing what we do with it — how it moves through us, what it costs, and whether it’s actually helping what we care about most. And if I’m honest, I don’t always catch it in time. Like many of you, I’ve learned that the hard way.
The real turning point for me was when I stopped asking, “Is my anger justified?” and started asking, “Is it useful?”
What the Heat is Pointing To
Anger usually isn’t the whole story. It’s a signal — a flare that says, “Something here matters.” Beneath it is almost always something we care about: respect, fairness, belonging, being heard, being seen.
When I notice my own anger starting to rise, I try to ask:
What is the feeling pointing to?
What is it defending or protecting?
What does it say about what I care about most?
What could this energy turn into if I chose to use it differently?
Those questions don’t make the anger disappear, but they help me get underneath it — to the care, the value, the love that lives there. That’s where the fuel starts to change. That’s where it becomes transformational.
The (Hard) Work of Refining
Here’s the part that’s easy to say and hard to do: refining anger takes real self-awareness.
It’s hard to pause when you want to react. It’s hard to stay curious when you feel dismissed or misunderstood. It’s hard to let go of the righteousness that comes with being sure you’re right.
But this is the work — learning to notice when our anger is helping and when it’s not. Learning when it’s time to speak up and when it’s time to listen.
There are moments when anger should be loud — when we need to protest, to push, to say the hard thing. Those moments matter because they can wake people up.
But once people are awake, sometimes the next courageous step is to stay. To stay in the room. Stay at the table. To start talking. To listen, even when (maybe especially when) it’s uncomfortable. To let the fire cool just enough so that we can start building something together.
It’s not glamorous work. It’s slow, it’s messy, it’s emotional, and it asks us to grow and to stretch. But, in my experience, it is how we turn heat into light.
Around a Shared Fire
When we name our anger, hold it, and work with it together, it becomes something else. It becomes shared energy.
And part of that shared work is learning to stay connected — even (maybe most importantly) to the people we’re angry with. That might be the hardest part of all: inviting them to sit at our fire, and being willing to sit at theirs. But staying connected is how systems start to shift. It’s how trust begins to rebuild. It’s how we remember that, ultimately, we’re all connected and part of a shared human story.
The Practice
Turning anger into fuel isn’t something we master. It’s something we practice. Every time the heat rises, we get another chance to choose how to use it.
So maybe the question isn’t how do we stop being angry?
Maybe it’s what will we do with our anger now?
Will it burn, or will it build?