I’ve known for a while that I forget things when I’m stressed (my body’s way of protecting me) and I’ve learned to live with that.
However, the thing that bothers me is the residual feelings. Recently, I’ve been getting incredibly pissed. People talking down to me, not treating me properly, getting work dumped on me…it’s been building.
I cant really destress since I work 5.5 days a week. I may forget what happened yesterday, but those feelings still build and fester.
I’m getting irritable with the one of these people that tend to trigger me. I feel at some point I might actually want to punch them from the amount of bullshit I get from them. They don’t change, too stubborn in their way.
So I don’t speak and take it, and I can’t do it anymore. I’m so angry….even if I forget why.
Any ideas besides distressing and talking to someone I can do to help?
Hey @user2746,
It sounds like your body learned how to erase the details to survive, but it never got to release what was unfair, so the anger stays. Anyone being talked down to, having work dumped on them, and given no room to push back would feel this build-up.
what stands out is that you don’t explode straight away, you don’t speak and take it. that’s not random. it makes me wonder where you first learned that staying quiet was safer than saying something. maybe it worked once, or for a long time. but now you’re seeing the cost: using the same silence doesn’t change how people treat you, and the expectations stay unspoken while the anger grows.
if you’re open to it, i’m curious, when you imagine speaking up even a little, what comes up first in your body: fear, guilt, tension… or something else?
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Thanks for the reply!
I remember being told quite a bit that ‘if you have nothing to contribute, don’t say anything at all’.
I tried talking to explain myself but I get embarrassed as I’d get made fun off (as a kid) or being told I’m just making excuses (when I know I’m not). I tend to feel shame after because I’m either ostracised or I never got to speak what I saw/my side of things. It’s frustrating.
Similarly, I’m the youngest in my department. I am smart and observant to say things but if I say something, I can make ‘unnecessary drama’. So for the sake of peace, I keep quiet.
It doesn’t help that despite the difference in ranking, I still get bossed about and bullied by much older, ‘mature colleagues’. I’ve even been confronted by them for not speaking or addressing them as an elder, when I’m pretty sure I’ve been much more level-headed.
Regardless, yes I still beat myself up for iT. Though it depends on the situation and that context is always washed away before I get to process it.
That sentence you quoted “if you have nothing to contribute, don’t say anything at all” explains so much. Reading your reply, it felt like a long history of being taught that speaking equals risk: being laughed at, dismissed as “making excuses,” or later, labelled as causing “unnecessary drama.” Anyone who learned that early would choose silence for safety. That wasn’t a flaw, it was a strategy that helped you get through.
What hurts now is the bind you’re in. You’re observant and capable, yet as the youngest, your voice gets filtered through age and rank. You stay quiet to keep the peace, but then get criticised for being quiet anyway. That’s a no-win position, and it makes sense that shame and anger would build, especially when the context disappears before you’ve had a chance to process what actually happened.
I want to affirm this clearly: being level-headed in a system that bullies or talks down to you is not weakness. It’s restraint. And the anger showing up now isn’t you becoming “dramatic” it’s a signal that the old rule of silence is costing you more than it protects you. If you’re open to staying with this a bit longer, I’m curious: when you imagine giving your side and being taken seriously, what feels hardest to believe? That you’d be heard? or That you wouldn’t be punished for it?
I had moments when I could speak. Sure I’ll be told I can’t cause drama but the feeling of being seen as me (just me) is gratifying. Sometimes the truth also makes me extremely nervous since I figured I’m somehow still in the wrong. I’d clench my fist or tap my foot away from view.
That part “being seen as me (just me) is gratifying” really stands out. It shows that when you do speak, even with the nerves and the warnings about “drama,” something important lands for you: recognition. And it makes sense that your body reacts at the same time, the clenched fist, the tapping foot, like it’s bracing for consequences even while you’re telling the truth.
I want to affirm this gently: feeling nervous doesn’t mean you’re wrong. It means you learned that visibility once came with risk, so your body prepares even when your words are grounded. The fact that you can notice those signals now says you’re becoming more aware, not less safe. We can keep holding this here, that tension between wanting to be seen and fearing the fallout, without rushing you to change it before you’re ready..