“What Am I to Do with My Fear? My Grief? My Anger?”

Contributed by Rev. Dr. Trish Hall

Have you ever felt totally out of control—like a cartoon character clinging desperately to a wildly spinning object? Or as if you were possessed by some external force, only to discover that the force was actually inside you? At times, emotions can feel like being sucked into a vacuum—one that swirls everything in its path with no regard for what remains standing.

Emotions are powerful. They can cripple or empower. They can paralyze or energize. And during times of upheaval—when what once felt safe and predictable has been overturned—we may forget that we hold within us the capacity to redirect that force. We can transmute emotional chaos into purposeful energy. We can pause, ask, How am I to serve?—and then listen for what wants to emerge through us.

We humans are fascinating creatures. We work relentlessly to make sense of our world, especially when it stops making sense. When life turns upside down, we fight to restore equilibrium—to reestablish a reality where up is up and down is down. We are meaning-making machines, trying to reason our way through the unreasonable.

Often unconsciously, we construct stories that explain why what feels wrong isn’t really wrong—or why it must somehow be justified. We can sustain these narratives for a while. Eventually fatigue sets in. Beneath our explanations we discover fear: fear that life will never return to “normal” (if such a thing ever existed). We grieve the loss of what once anchored us. And for many, anger rises—often directed toward whoever or whatever we believe caused our losses or threatened our sense of safety. Others turn inward, sinking into despair or depression.

This emotional mélange describes the inner world of countless people right now.

Yet there is another remarkable quality woven through our fear, grief, and anger: resilience. It is our survival instinct—the deep intelligence that keeps us moving forward even when certainty dissolves. Emotions themselves are part of that intelligence. They are not flaws in our system; they are the system—internal alerts signaling that something is out of balance, that we no longer feel safe or oriented.

When these alarms sound, our bodies constrict. We feel compelled to defend ourselves and those we love. We cling tightly to the life we once knew, even while doubting whether equilibrium can ever be restored. And yet, paradoxically, it is often in these very moments of instability that our greatest inner strength is revealed. Crisis has a way of calling forth capacities we did not know we possessed.

Many of us were taught to categorize emotions as “good” or “bad.” But emotions are neither. They are intelligent signaling mechanisms—information carriers. What matters is not the emotion itself, but how we interpret and use the information it provides.

Emotional data deserves discernment. Our feelings are filtered through personal history, cultural conditioning, and unconscious bias. Five people can witness the same event and experience five entirely different realities. Likewise, our emotions do not always reflect objective truth. Add to this our innate tendency toward confirmation bias—the inclination to notice what confirms what we already believe while filtering out contradictory evidence.  It becomes clear why emotions can feel so convincing in spite of lacking accuracy.

Because we assume something to be true, our emotions react in anticipation of that assumption being fulfilled, reinforcing the belief and strengthening the emotional response. This feedback loop can trap us—unless we pause long enough to examine it.

When we release the habit of labeling emotions as good or bad, a deeper understanding becomes possible. Emotions are energy. And energy can be directed.

Anger, for example, can be paralyzing—or it can be a source of immense strength. We can hand our power over to it, allowing it to rage unchecked, or we can harness its energy to challenge systems that no longer align with our values. The difference lies in conscious choice.

So the real question becomes: Are we willing to remain victims of our emotions, or are we ready to work with them as allies? Are we frustrated enough with being overwhelmed that we are willing to reclaim our power?

Personal transformation is not for the faint of heart. It requires courage, commitment, and a willingness to step into the unknown. Imagine how different life could feel if you were no longer imprisoned by your emotional reactions. Freedom begins when we learn to redirect emotional energy rather than suppress or discharge it.

Fear, grief, and anger each arise from a perceived loss—and each contains an embedded calling.

Fear emerges when the structures we trusted collapse—when our ability to discern what is safe feels shattered, and we believe ourselves powerless against forces beyond our control. Grief surfaces when the loss feels final—when hope dims and helplessness deepens isolation. Anger arises as a demand for change, an eruption of pent-up energy seeking movement and expression. Frustration often speaks through anger, which—when channeled consciously—can be profoundly constructive.

To uncover the wisdom within these emotions, we must ask a different question: What would I rather experience? This shift in perspective opens a powerful truth—we already possess what we need to change direction. While we cannot control how others respond or whether the world conforms to our desires, one thing is absolute: when we change, our world reorganizes around that change.

This realization is profound. When we declare “enough is enough” and draw upon our inner strength, we discover that we are not broken—we are latent potential waiting to be activated. As Mother Teresa reminded us, “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”

Within fear lies the desire to rebuild trust and restore connection. It calls us toward community, collaboration, and service—toward groups that identify needs and work together to meet them.

Within grief lives empathy—the capacity to sense what others are enduring. It invites us to nurture, to accompany, to bring tenderness where there has been harm.

Within anger resides the energy for change. Mobilized anger becomes action: marches, advocacy, prayer circles, meditation gatherings, visible stands for justice and healing. Mobilization simply means movement—transforming frozen rage into purposeful engagement. Healthy anger requires healthy outlets.

Each of these emotions carries transformative potential. Grief can deepen compassion and meaning, allowing sorrow to be felt without drowning in it. Fear can sharpen discernment, draw us into presence, and cultivate trust rooted in clarity rather than denial. Anger can bring focus, agency, and healthy boundaries, helping us identify what must be protected or changed.

The invitation is ours: to choose conscious outlets and step into action.

One way to begin is through reflection. Recall people or situations that have brought out your truest self. Who were they? How did they show up? What about them called to you? These attractions are not accidents. They signal alignment. Something within you recognizes something possible.

Allow images of work, service, or volunteer opportunities that embody these qualities to surface. Compare their attributes with what brings you joy. Then invite the emotional energy that once held you captive to fuel engagement—especially in forms of service that involve giving of yourself.

Research consistently affirms what many of us intuitively know: when we give from the heart, we receive profound benefits. Volunteering is associated with reduced anxiety and depression, increased life satisfaction, greater emotional resilience, enhanced social well-being, and improved overall quality of life. Emerging research even suggests links between consistent community engagement and slower cognitive aging.

Perhaps most importantly, service shifts our orientation from self-absorption to being a beneficial presence.

Our emotions are not obstacles to overcome. They are invitations. When we listen deeply, redirect wisely, and act courageously, fear, grief, and anger become pathways—not prisons—guiding us into lives of meaning, connection, and purpose.

This blog post is the expressed opinion of its writer and does not necessarily reflect the views of Tysons Interfaith or its members.