I Used to Be the Angry Boy

Before I became a husband, father, grandfather, leader, author, entrepreneur, or any of the other titles I carry today, I was an angry boy.

I can say that now because I have enough distance from that version of myself to understand him differently. Back then, I couldn't have explained what was happening inside of me. I just knew there were times when I was angry, and anger became one of the easiest emotions for me to show.

The problem was that anger wasn't the whole story.

Underneath it was hurt. Rejection. Insecurity. Grief. There were times when I questioned whether I was wanted, whether I was enough, and where I belonged. There were things happening inside of me that I simply didn't have the language to explain, so when I couldn't tell somebody what hurt, anger sometimes did the talking for me.

As I got older, the boy grew up, but some of those emotions grew up with me.

That's something we don't always talk about. Turning eighteen doesn't automatically heal what happened at eight. Becoming successful doesn't erase insecurity. Getting married doesn't automatically teach you how to communicate. Becoming a father doesn't suddenly give you all the tools you didn't have growing up. You can become very good at functioning while still carrying things you never learned how to process.

For me, change required more than simply telling myself to stop being angry. I had to learn what was underneath it.

Ask a Better Question

Instead of only asking myself, "Why am I so angry?" I eventually had to learn to ask a better question: "What am I actually feeling right now?"

Sometimes I wasn't angry at all. I was hurt. Sometimes I felt rejected. Sometimes I was embarrassed, disappointed, insecure, or afraid of losing something or someone that mattered to me. Anger was just easier to access because it made me feel stronger than admitting that something had hurt me.

Learning that didn't happen overnight, and knowing it didn't automatically make me better at handling it. I had to put practical things in place.

Create Space Before You React

One of those things was learning to create space between what I felt and what I did next. That was huge for me because when you're used to reacting, everything feels urgent. You feel like you have to say something right now, defend yourself right now, prove your point right now, or make sure the other person understands exactly how you feel right now.

I had to learn that just because I felt something strongly didn't mean I had to immediately respond to it.

Sometimes the best thing I could do was walk away for a minute. Sometimes I needed to be quiet. Sometimes I needed to pray before I spoke. Sometimes I needed to think about whether what I was getting ready to say would actually help the situation or simply make me feel better for a few seconds while creating a bigger problem afterward.

Anger can make you believe that reacting is power. Sometimes the real power is having enough control over yourself to choose your response.

Give the Pain Somewhere to Go

I also had to give the pain somewhere to go.

For a long time, I thought keeping things inside was strength. I could handle it. I could push through it. I could keep moving and deal with whatever I was feeling on my own. What I eventually learned was that buried pain doesn't disappear just because nobody can see it.

My faith became a major part of that process. Prayer gave me a place to be honest when I didn't always know how to be honest with people. Writing gave me another outlet. Conversations with people I trusted helped me hear myself differently. Over time, I became more willing to do the deeper work instead of constantly trying to outrun whatever was bothering me.

None of those things made me weak. They helped me become healthier.

Accountability Without Excuses

Another part of my growth was accountability, and this may have been one of the hardest lessons of all. There came a point when I had to stop using what happened to me as an excuse for what was coming out of me. My past could help explain some of my behavior, but it couldn't continue excusing it.

That distinction changed a lot for me.

I could acknowledge the hurt without giving myself permission to hurt somebody else. I could acknowledge rejection without allowing it to determine how I treated people. I could understand why certain things triggered me without making everyone around me responsible for managing my emotions. At some point, I had to take responsibility for the man I was becoming.

Learning a New Language

I also had to learn a language I didn't have when I was younger.

• "I'm hurt."
• "I feel rejected."
• "I'm embarrassed."
• "I need a minute."
• "I don't know how to process this."
• "I need help."

Those statements may sound simple, but there was a time when I didn't know how to say them. Sometimes anger said everything because I didn't know how to say anything else.

What I See When I Look at Angry Boys Today

When I see a young man acting out, I don't automatically assume I know his story. Accountability still matters. Standards still matter. Consequences still matter. I am not suggesting that harmful behavior should be ignored because someone is hurting. What I am saying is that correcting behavior without ever becoming curious about what's underneath it may only address half of the problem.

Sometimes there is a story underneath the anger.

There may be grief underneath it. There may be rejection underneath it. There may be a child wondering why somebody left, why somebody didn't choose him, why he doesn't feel like he belongs, or why nobody seems to understand what he's trying to say.

I know because I used to be that boy.

That's why I believe parents, coaches, teachers, mentors, pastors, and leaders have an opportunity that goes far beyond telling a young man to straighten up. We can hold him accountable while also helping him develop the tools to understand himself. We can teach him that strength isn't pretending nothing hurts. We can show him how to communicate, how to step away before reacting, how to apologize when he's wrong, how to ask for help, and how to take responsibility without believing his worst moment defines him.

The Responsibility That Belongs to the Man

At some point, somebody else's failure can no longer be the reason we refuse to grow. There came a time in my own life when I had to decide that regardless of what happened before, I was responsible for what happened next. I couldn't change every part of my story, but with God's help, I could change what I did with it.

That is still an ongoing process for me. I haven't reached some place where nothing bothers me, nothing hurts me, and I always respond perfectly. I'm still growing. I'm still learning. I'm still discovering things about myself that I didn't understand years ago. The difference is that I have tools now, and I am much more willing to use them.

He Needed to Be SEEN

When I think about that angry boy today, I don't look at him with embarrassment. I understand him better.

He didn't need another label attached to him. He needed accountability, but he also needed tools. He needed people who were willing to look beyond what he was doing and care enough to ask what was happening inside of him. He needed healing. He needed language. He needed safe places to tell the truth. He needed God.

And maybe, more than anything, he needed to be SEEN.

Seen beyond the anger.
Seen beyond the behavior.
Seen beyond the mistakes.
Seen deeply enough for somebody to recognize that there was more happening inside of him than what was showing up on the outside.

That angry boy grew up.

I'm thankful he did.

Not because anger completely disappeared from his life, but because eventually he learned that anger didn't have to run it.

If You Recognize Yourself in This

If there is a boy or a man reading this who recognizes some part of himself in my story, I want you to know something I wish I had understood much earlier:

Feeling anger doesn't have to determine who you become. You can learn what is underneath it. You can develop better tools. You can take responsibility for your actions. You can ask for help. You can heal. You can grow.

An angry boy doesn't have to become an angry man.

Sometimes he just needs someone to help him find another way.

Sometimes that someone has to be him.