Krishna Says: Your Anger Isn’t About Them—It’s Your Own Unhealed Wounds Screaming for Attention

श्रीभगवानुवाच:
"क्रोधाद्भवति संमोहः संमोहात्स्मृतिविभ्रमः।
स्मृतिभ्रंशाद्बुद्धिनाशो बुद्धिनाशात्प्रणश्यति॥"
— Bhagavad Gita 2.63

(“From anger arises delusion, from delusion confusion of memory; from confusion of memory, destruction of intellect, and from destruction of intellect, one is lost.”)

Anger is rarely about the present moment. It carries the weight of years, of forgotten wounds and unheard cries. It arrives not as a simple reaction but as an echo—of times we felt unseen, unheard, unworthy. The face before us, the words spoken, the act that triggers the fire within, is merely a spark. The real flame was lit long ago. And each time we rage, we are not fighting what is happening now—we are battling ghosts from our past.

Krishna, in the Bhagavad Gita, speaks of anger not as an emotion to be suppressed but as one to be understood. He warns that anger clouds the mind, leading to delusion and destruction. But what is this destruction? It is not just the ruin of relationships or the loss of control. It is the slow erosion of the self. Each time anger rises unchecked, it pulls us further away from clarity, from peace, from the deeper truth hidden beneath the fury. Because beneath all anger, there is pain. And beneath pain, there is longing—for love, for validation, for closure we never received.



Have you ever wondered why a single rejection can feel like abandonment? Why a small criticism can feel like an attack? Why being ignored feels unbearable? It is because our present is layered with the past. The person who ignores our feelings today reminds us of the many times we were unheard before. The moment someone dismisses our emotions, it is not just their words that hurt—it is every moment of neglect, every cry that went unanswered.

We are not reacting to now. We are reacting to years of accumulated hurt. And anger, in its rawest form, is nothing but a defense mechanism—a shield forged from old wounds, a battle cry of the child within us that was once powerless but now wishes to fight back. But does fighting ever truly heal?

There is a version of you that exists in the shadows of time—a younger self, a past self, carrying wounds that were never given the space to heal. Maybe it was the way you were silenced as a child, made to feel small for having emotions too big. Maybe it was the time you needed love and it did not come. Maybe it was betrayal, abandonment, humiliation. These wounds, left unacknowledged, do not disappear. They settle into the body, into the subconscious, into the very fabric of how we see the world. And when we are hurt today, it is not just the present self that feels the pain—it is that past version of us, still waiting to be comforted.

But Krishna’s wisdom tells us: if we do not see our wounds, we will mistake them for the world’s cruelty. We will keep fighting battles outside, not realizing that the war has always been within.

Anger often arises from the desire to be seen, to be understood, to be acknowledged. We replay arguments in our minds, hoping that one day, the people who hurt us will finally realize their mistakes. That they will apologize. That they will heal the pain they caused. But what if they never do?

The truth is, waiting for someone else to heal us is another form of self-abandonment. We give our power away, hoping that the same hands that hurt us will now mend us. But Krishna reminds us—no one else holds our peace. No one else carries our closure. It is within us, waiting for us to turn inward instead of outward.

So ask yourself—what would happen if you stopped waiting for them to understand you? What if the validation you have always sought could come from yourself? Could you finally put the anger down?

Most people believe that anger is power—that it shields us from further hurt, that it makes us stronger. But Krishna’s teachings unravel this illusion. Anger is not power; it is pain wearing armor. Beneath rage is always something softer—fear, grief, rejection, the unbearable weight of feeling unloved.

The mind justifies anger because it is easier than admitting that we are afraid. Afraid of being abandoned. Afraid of being not enough. Afraid of feeling as helpless as we once did. But Krishna reminds us that true power does not come from holding onto fire. It comes from understanding it. It comes from seeing beyond the illusion of anger and asking—what am I truly feeling beneath this rage? And what would happen if I met that feeling with compassion instead of resistance?
The tragedy of unhealed wounds is that, in running from them, we often become the very thing we feared. The parent who silenced your emotions? You silence yourself now. The person who abandoned you? You push others away before they can leave. The voice that told you that you weren’t enough? It now speaks through your own mind.

Pain repeats itself in cycles—until we break it. Krishna does not ask us to suppress our emotions but to observe them. To witness the cycle without becoming it. Because once we see the pattern, we gain the power to choose differently.
There is a misconception that forgiveness is about the other person—that it is about absolving them, about making peace with their actions. But Krishna teaches that forgiveness is not about them. It is about you. It is about releasing yourself from the chains of your past. Because anger is a prison, and each time we replay our pain, we reinforce its walls.

You do not forgive because they deserve it. You forgive because you deserve peace. You forgive because you are tired of carrying the burden of someone else’s actions. You forgive because your soul is longing to be free.

Do not react. Do not justify. Just pause.

Ask yourself:
What is this anger trying to show me?
What part of me is still waiting to be healed?
What would happen if I met this anger with love instead of resistance?

Anger is not the enemy. It is a messenger. And it is time to listen.

Because healing is not something the world will offer you. It is something only you can choose.

हरि ॐ।