A Duality I Didn’t Expect
Every morning, I wake up surrounded by love.
My wife, my unborn daughter, and my life itself—it’s all love.
I’m grateful. I feel blessed.
But here’s the truth: I wake up angry.
Not just annoyed—angry. Every day.
It doesn’t make sense, does it?
How can I love everything around me, yet feel this fire inside?
The anger isn’t directed at anyone. Not my wife, not my child, not myself.
But it’s there.
I think love does that sometimes.
It brings joy, but it also cracks you open, exposing everything—good and bad.
Maybe this anger comes from the weight of responsibility.
Maybe it’s fear—fear of failing those I love, fear of not being enough.
Maybe it’s the vulnerability that comes with loving this much.
Love doesn’t just calm you.
Sometimes, it ignites the parts of you that you thought you buried.
And here I am, in love and on fire.
The Source of the Anger
Maybe it’s the pressure.
Maybe it’s the responsibility that comes with being a husband, a father-to-be, a man trying to build something great.
Maybe it’s fear—fear of failing, of not living up to my own standards.
This anger, it’s not random. It’s rooted in something.
Could it be the world? The chaos, the uncertainty, the systems that are broken?
Maybe it’s the need to protect what I love, and the fear of losing it.
Or maybe it’s me—facing parts of myself that are still unresolved.
Love exposes things.
The deeper you love, the more it digs up everything you’ve tried to bury.
And sometimes that brings anger to the surface.
Not because I don’t love, but because I love so much it hurts.
Because the stakes feel so high.
And in love, there’s vulnerability. And in vulnerability, there’s fire.
The Dichotomy of Love and Anger
Love is beautiful, but it’s not always peaceful.
It’s not just soft kisses and happy moments.
Real love comes with fire.
The deeper you love, the fiercer you feel.
And that fierceness? Sometimes it turns into anger.
Not because love isn’t enough, but because it’s overwhelming.
I love my wife fiercely. I love my unborn daughter fiercely.
But that love brings out a need to protect, to guard, to hold on tight.
And when you feel that intensely, anger creeps in.
It’s not anger at them—it’s anger at the world, at the things I can’t control.
Love and anger, they’re two sides of the same coin.
They fuel each other, and that’s the paradox I live in.
I’m not just angry. I’m angry in love.
Loving Myself Through the Anger
Loving myself isn’t always peaceful either.
It’s about accepting the parts of me that feel broken.
The parts that are still angry, still raw.
I can’t pretend the anger doesn’t exist.
Self-love isn’t about being perfect—it’s about embracing the mess.
I love who I am, even when I feel like I’m at war with myself.
The anger? It’s a part of me.
I’m learning to love it, too.
Because maybe that anger is just a signal.
It’s telling me there’s more work to do, more growth ahead.
And I love myself enough to do that work.
Even if it means sitting with the fire.
Anger as a Motivator for Change
This anger isn’t here for no reason.
It’s a sign that something inside needs to shift.
Anger is energy.
It’s a fire that can burn me down—or light the way forward.
I’m choosing to let it fuel change.
Not destruction, but growth.
This anger is a reminder that there’s more work to do, more boundaries to set, more healing to embrace.
I don’t hate my anger. I’m learning to understand it.
It’s pushing me to be better, to dig deeper.
I’m using it to create, not destroy.
And in that process, I’m finding peace in the fire.
Embracing the Paradox
I’ve stopped running from the anger.
I’ve stopped trying to separate it from the love.
Because the truth is, they both belong.
I can be in love with my wife, my daughter, myself—and still carry this fire inside me.
Maybe that’s what real love is—something big enough to hold both joy and rage.
I don’t need to “fix” the anger, just like I don’t need to hold on too tightly to the love.
I can let them both exist.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s where true peace comes from.
Not in choosing one emotion over the other, but in allowing both to be a part of my story.
Love and anger. Fire and calm.
I’m learning to live in that paradox, and I’m okay with it.
