when anger speaks

Grief has a way of introducing you to parts of yourself you didn’t know you’d have to meet.

You’ve probably heard it said there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Sometimes seven stages are listed, adding shock and testing. I’m not going to break down what each stage can entail, because at this point, I can reasonably say bargaining and testing don’t make the cut for me.

Shock that I’ve lost not one, but two husbands… check.
Denial/disbelief that it would be from cancer again… check.

As the last six months have passed, those first two have quieted down to a dull roar, only to make way for the stage I’m in now. Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to my current - and loudest speaking - companion: Anger.

Over the last several weeks, I’ve relived memories with Michael that still reopen scarred-over wounds. Hurtful words spoken years ago echo like they were said yesterday, and I find myself stunned that he could have ever treated the “love of his life” so unkindly.

As such, anger has pulled up a chair at the table of my mind like it belongs there, like it was invited, like it has a place setting with its name on it. Being the good hostess that I am, I bring it a plate and a glass of water. And to earn its keep, it starts rehearsing conversations I never got to finish. It collects evidence. It narrates my married life like a courtroom drama. Sometimes it sounds like strength. Sometimes it sounds like poison. It’s a strange mix of comfort and danger that whispers, I believe you. I believe that hurt mattered. I believe you didn’t deserve that. And when you’re raw and grieving and disappointed and exhausted, that kind of validation can feel justified.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” ~ Psalm 34:18

But the other side of this coin is that I’m also angry with myself.

Angry that I wasn’t emotionally stronger.
Angry that I validated his insecurities with my own.
Angry for all the times I swallowed what I wanted to say because I feared how he would react.
Angry for making myself smaller so he could feel bigger.
Angry for carrying the emotional weight for two people and calling it “commitment.”

I’m angry with myself for tolerating mistreatment because I was hopeful, or loyal, or determined to believe the best. Because I was trying to keep peace, keep love, keep a family, keep a promise.

I’m angry I didn’t say, “This? This is your bullshit. Not mine.”

I’m angry I didn’t value my own worth.

A couple of years ago, I started following a podcast called House of Joy (Dr. Edie Wadsworth), and I learned something that genuinely shifted me: feel the feelings, but don’t live in them.

That was eye-opening because my M.O. had always been to hold onto everything and stuff my emotions - especially anything negative. I can say with 100% accuracy: this is no way to live. The only thing I achieved was a piece of petrified wood lodged in the deepest, darkest recesses of my heart; the hardest places to reach.

I called it “protecting myself,” but what I was really doing was being and doing whatever anyone wanted of me, even when I didn’t want to. Childhood trauma, wrapped up in the pretty package of being agreeable, so you wouldn’t leave me.

More recently, I’ve learned something else about being a pleaser (from an absolutely incredible podcast called The Leader’s Cut, which is ROCKING.MY.WORLD.), how closely I’ve tied it to my reputation.

In essence, I’ve worked hard to relate to people in a way that ensures they see me as good. Because if I do what they want, how could they ever say anything negative about me… to me?

I totally understand how unhealthy that is. The version of Annalea I thought people wanted wasn’t really me. It was a false, insecure identity I created so people would stay.

God told Samuel that man looks on the outside - reputation.
But God looks on the inside - identity.

“Reputation is safe to sacrifice when your identity is settled and secure.” ~ Preston Morrison

Every day, God is helping me step into the identity He gave me, not the one I built 52 years ago to survive. Not the one no one ever told me I no longer needed to carry. Not the one I’ve punished myself for. Not the one the enemy keeps trying to sell me.

My reputation… or God’s proximity?

He calls me His beloved daughter.

That’s a beautiful place to begin.

So is this anger part of my grieving process? I think it is. The “stages” seem to confirm it. But I also want to believe it’s educating me by teaching me where boundaries should have been and revealing the places where I abandoned myself. It’s helping me release what no longer serves me, and it hurts… because it’s honest. But honesty, when it’s grounded in grace, is also holy ground.

Because eventually, if I let it, anger can become something steadier: self-respect. A clean line. A new standard. Not bitterness… clarity.

And clarity is its own kind of peace.

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!” ~ Isaiah 43:18–19

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” ~ Philippians 4:8