Who Am I Mad At? Grief’s Most Misunderstood Emotion

I’ve always felt a deep connection with the misunderstood.

It’s part of the reason I love grief work. Because grief is misunderstood all the time—rushed, minimized, avoided, or wrapped up in clichés that don’t even come close to the reality of it.

It’s also part of the reason I care so deeply about talking about anger—especially validating it. Because anger, too, is so often misunderstood. It gets labeled as destructive or inappropriate. Too loud. Too much. Too inconvenient.

So it’s really no coincidence that grief and anger go hand-in-hand. They walk alongside each other.

And when they show up together—grief and anger—it’s not something to be feared or silenced. It’s something to be witnessed.

This post is about that specific kind of anger. The kind that shows up in loss. The kind that doesn’t feel righteous or clear-cut or justified. The kind that just is. And the kind that—more than anything—has nowhere to go.

This Isn’t That Kind of Anger

This isn’t the kind of anger that comes with betrayal.

It’s not like infidelity.

It’s not like a broken promise.

It’s not even like injustice—because at least injustice has someone to blame.

In other areas of life, when we’re angry, we can name it. Point to it. Assign it a face. A cause. A consequence. That kind of anger can feel righteous. It moves toward justice, closure, repair.

Grief-anger?

It’s a like bird flying in circles, exhausted, desperate for somewhere to land.

We’re told that anger is part of grief. That it’s one of the "stages", one of the “tasks,” one of the things we’re supposed to move through on our way to…what? Acceptance?

But here’s what they don’t tell you: Anger in grief is a fire that has nowhere to burn. It’s loud, and often dismissed. It shows up when something happens that we didn’t ask for, didn’t consent to, didn’t sign up for—and unlike other wrongs in life, there’s no one to hold accountable.

In other parts of life, when we’ve been wronged, we seek resolution. We want answers. Apologies. Repair. In grief? There’s no one to make it right. And that’s what makes this kind anger so complicated—it’s real, and it’s valid, but it has nowhere to land.

So what do we do with it? What do we do with the rage that has no name, no face, no resolution? What happens when the pain of loss meets the fury of injustice and just…spirals?

We Didn’t Sign Up for This

That’s really the the crux of it.

We didn’t ask for this. We didn’t consent to this loss. We didn’t agree to do life without them. And yet—here we are.

There is no one there to apologize for leaving us behind.

No one can undo what’s been done.

There’s no courtroom for the broken heart.

No one to send the bill to for the cost of this pain.

So the anger just…stays.

Where Does It Go?

Who are we angry at?

Ourselves? Them? Fate? Time? God?

The people who didn’t show up when we needed them?

The people who kept living like nothing changed?

We ask these questions hoping they’ll lead us somewhere—

But most of the time, they don’t.

Because the truth is, there is no answer.

And that is why it feels so disorienting. So chaotic. So lonely.

Grief-anger is not just about being mad. It’s about being mad with no clear reason, no clear direction, and no one who can make it right.

Maybe the Answer Isn’t Resolution

Maybe what we need isn’t to resolve it.

Maybe what we need is to recognize it.

To say: This anger feels like this because it has nowhere to go.

To say: It’s valid—even if I don't understand it.

To say: There is nothing wrong with me if I feel angry in my grief.

Let the anger land on that. On the knowing.

Let it land on the unfairness.

Let it land on the circumstance.

Let it land on the simple, devastating fact that this is your life now—and you never signed up for it.

Let the Bird Rest

If the anger is a bird, circling the sky, exhausted, disoriented from constant flight—

Maybe our job isn’t to catch it or cage it.

Maybe it’s just to hold out a branch.

To whisper, I know you’re tired. You can rest here.

Maybe the most healing thing we can do is stop trying to make grief-anger make sense—and instead offer it a place to simply be.

Final Thoughts

If you’re in it—if the anger is loud and heavy and relentless—please hear this:

I know your anger is real. I know your anger is tired.

And just because you can't find a resolution for your anger doesn’t mean you’re not grieving “correctly.”

It means no one has told you your anger will have no where to go.

It means no one has given you permission to let your anger rest somewhere unfamiliar.

This is grief.

This is what it looks like when the heart breaks and no one can fix it.

This is what it sounds like when the scream stays stuck in your throat.

And if all you do today is name the anger, hold your arms out wide, and give it somewhere to land—that is enough. 🕊️