Someone loved me through the anger long enough for me to put it down.

After my dad died I decided the whole thing was a fairytale for people too weak to face the dark. I was the smartest, angriest person in every room.

Not in an argument I lost — in a kitchen, with a friend who wouldn't leave when I tried to push him out.

I'm not angry anymore. I'm not pretending I have it figured out either. I just stopped carrying it alone.

Your anger is guarding a grief. He can hold both. You were never the strong one — you were the tired one.