I used to be very emotional. Really emotional — especially when I was angry, sad, frustrated, disappointed, or hopeless. I didn’t know how to navigate my emotions at all, and looking back, I understand why. I grew up in an environment where people didn’t manage their feelings; instead, they acted on them. So, for a long time, I didn’t realise that reacting emotionally wasn’t always healthy — not until I entered relationships, anyway.
My partners pointed out that I might have anger management issues, or at least be too emotional in general. When I was angry, I felt it building up in my body, like heat waiting to burst out through my words or my hands. If I didn’t shout or smash something, my throat would ache, and I’d only get angrier. When I was sad, disappointed, or hopeless, those emotions often shifted into anger — because I hated feeling that way. And if they didn’t become anger, they became endless overthinking, imagining the worst-case scenarios, even when the situation wasn’t nearly as bad as I believed.
Of course, that spiral only made me feel more hopeless, more frustrated, and more stuck in the same destructive cycle. Being overly emotional, overthinking, and filling in the blanks with my own negative assumptions was never healthy.
When I broke up with my last boyfriend — my most toxic relationship and also the most toxic version of myself — I finally turned inwards. I realised that I didn’t need to change for others but for myself. I had to learn how to process emotions in a way that didn’t consume me. Emotions exist for a reason, and when handled properly, they’re healthy and necessary. But left unchecked, they can become destructive, hurting both ourselves and the people we care about.
I started reading books and watching videos that gave me real, practical tools to manage my feelings. It wasn’t easy. In fact, at first it felt almost wrong, like I was cheating myself by not screaming or lashing out — because that was what I thought I needed to feel better. But deep down, I knew those reactions weren’t serving me in the long run. So I held back. And slowly, things began to shift.
Five years later, I’m in such a different place. When I feel angry now, it doesn’t take over my body. I don’t feel my throat burning for a scream or my hands itching to lash out. I just feel… angry. That’s all. When I’m upset with my partner, I can calmly say, “I’m not in the best place to talk right now, because I’m angry. Let’s revisit this later when I’m clearer.”
What helps most is sitting quietly with myself, without replaying the situation in my head. And something amazing happens: the anger passes. When I look back on it afterwards, I often realise I wasn’t truly angry — I was disappointed, hurt, or simply frustrated. Understanding that anger is a secondary emotion has been a game-changer.
Now, instead of exploding or overthinking, I process what I know. I don’t assume. If something isn’t clear or I don’t have the full picture, I don’t need to fill in the blanks with worst-case scenarios. I let it be.
Looking back, I don’t love the person I was. But I’m deeply thankful for her — because she’s the one who decided to change. And because of her, I’m calmer, more emotionally connected, and far better at being present with myself and others.