A newsletter from Matt Licata

Dear Karen, 

There is a quiet wound many sensitive, empathic, spiritually oriented people carry around anger.

Early on, the nervous system learned something painful—and very intelligent: this energy is dangerous. Not because anger itself is harmful, but because, in the worlds many of us grew up in, our fire disrupted connection. Our “no.” Our intensity. Our needs.

Someone turned away.
Froze.
Became frightened.
Shamed us.

And long before the mind could make meaning of it, the body made a decision: better to disappear than to risk losing love.

The anger didn’t vanish. It went underground.

It buried itself in the body and reappeared in more acceptable forms—caretaking, being easy, chronic empathy, spiritual language that avoids conflict and boundary-setting. Compassion that is sometimes fear wearing soft clothing.

When anger finally breaks through, it often arrives distorted—as resentment, bitterness, or sudden eruptions that feel out of character.

This is not pathology.
The body isn’t confused. It’s remembering.

From a somatic perspective, anger is simply activation seeking direction. It is life rising to protect what matters. Heat gathers. The belly engages. The spine wants to lengthen. The body says: something sacred is being crossed.

For a young nervous system, expressing anger often meant risking rupture in the bond with an attachment figure—and connection is survival. So the fire learned to hide.

This is why anger is so misunderstood on the spiritual path. But anger is not the problem. A disembodied, unconscious relationship with anger is.

Conscious anger is one of the foundations of mature spiritual life. Without it, meditation can quietly become dissociation. Compassion becomes appeasement. Forgiveness becomes self-erasure.

In its mature form, anger is not a weapon.
It is a guardian.

It says:
I matter.
This boundary matters.
Something sacred is being crossed.

And when this guardian is finally met with enough safety—safety in the body, and often safety in relationship—it frequently reveals what has been living underneath the heat all along.

Grief.
Grief for crossed boundaries.
Grief for the self that had to disappear in order to be loved.
Grief for the life that was postponed.

Anger work is grief work.
And grief work is love work.

If it feels supportive, you might simply begin to notice when these energies arise—perhaps in response to another person, a situation, a feeling, a dream, or a familiar pattern. And for a few moments, see what happens when you turn toward them with curiosity and companionship.

Please take care of yourself.

Warmly,
Matt