I’ve always experienced displays of anger on my part as distinctly disempowering. Even & especially when that anger leads to a visible &/or violent outburst. It has nothing to do with being right or wrong. In fact, I’ve learned to suppress any display of anger on my part because my own inevitable reaction is to feel profound regret, to see how I might have reacted differently — & again, notwithstanding the merits of my position.
This is especially true of my marriage. The times I’ve displayed real anger at my wife always lead to apologies on my part — not just for the display, but for the cause itself. It feels like an internal biochemical reaction that I’m powerless to control.
I find people of any age, gender, race or nationality who wear their anger like chips on their shoulder to be off-putting, not especially worth my time. I probably won’t ask you why you’re angry because I really don’t care. & I especially don’t care to be the object of anyone’s outburst.
We were none of us put on this planet to be targets of acrimony.