When Grief Comes with Anger | Understanding Anger in Grief
Some losses don’t just bring sadness. They bring anger. Learn why anger is a valid part of grief and how to move through it with support.
There are some losses that don’t just bring sadness.
They bring anger. Disbelief.
The kind of anger that sits in your chest and says,
This should not have happened.
A 7-month-old baby lost her life to gun violence in Brooklyn.
And if you felt something when you heard that… you’re not wrong.
Because this kind of grief is not just about loss.
It’s about injustice.
Is Anger a Normal Part of Grief?
In my work, people often ask if anger is a normal part of grief.
Yes.
And sometimes, it’s the most honest part.
Anger shows up when something sacred is violated.
When something feels deeply wrong.
When something that should have been protected… wasn’t.
And in moments like this, grief doesn’t come quietly.
It comes with questions, frustration, and a need to make sense of something that simply doesn’t make sense.
Anger is an emotion, just like joy. And just like joy, it deserves to be acknowledged, not dismissed.
What Anger in Grief Can Feel Like
You might feel:
Angry at the people responsible
Angry at systems that failed
Angry at how random and unfair life can be
Angry at a world that keeps moving forward
All of that is real.
Why Anger Shows Up in Grief
Anger in grief is not something to fix.
It’s something to understand.
It speaks to what we value.
What we believe should be protected.
What should have never been taken.
A child’s life is sacred.
Safety is sacred.
Peace is sacred.
And when those things are violated, anger makes sense.
Moving Through Anger Without Ignoring It
The work is not to silence it.
The work is to hold it without letting it consume you.
To feel it.
To name it.
To move through it in ways that do not cause further harm.
A baby should not be a headline.
When Grief Feels Overwhelming
Today, we are not just grieving a life lost.
We are grieving a sense of safety, of what should have been.
And if all you can say is, this is not okay,
that is more than enough.
Grief Support: Tools for the Tough Days
If you’re carrying grief that feels heavy, unpredictable, or hard to put into words, you don’t have to sit with it alone.
I created the Grief First Aid Kit: Tools for the Tough Days as a gentle resource for moments when grief feels overwhelming.
It includes grounding tools, emotional check-ins, and simple ways to move through difficult moments without pressure to “fix” how you feel.
This is not about having the right words or doing grief the “right” way.
It’s about having something to return to when things feel like too much.
Source:
Mother of 7-month-old baby shot and killed in Brooklyn wants to set record straight
https://abc7ny.com/post/brooklyn-baby-killed-mother-7-month-old-shot-east-williamsburg-wants-set-record-straight/18836076/
Written by Shantel “Shanti” Robinson, LCSW
Founder: Shanti’s Promise, LLC & Shanti’s Promise Clinical Wellness, PLLC
Empathy. Strength. Renewal
This one hurts…
This one hurts deeply. A shooting in my old Newark, NJ (South Ward) neighborhood—the streets that shaped me—stirred heartache, anger, and memories I didn’t expect to feel. As a grief and trauma therapist, moments like this remind me why mental health skills are survival tools, especially for communities carrying so much pain. This is my reflection on loss, home, and the healing Newark aka Brick City deserves.
Brick City roots — honoring the place that shaped me.
Honestly, I was not planning on writing another blog entry so soon. This one hurts in a way I can’t shake.
When I saw the news about another shooting in Newark, New Jersey, the anger came instantly but this one hit a part of me I thought was tucked away. This happened on streets that raised me. Streets where I learned how to survive, how to navigate the world, and how to hold my own.
I was born at Newark Beth Israel Medical Center. My first residence in life was on Lehigh Avenue until I was 11 months old; however, Wainwright Street between Keer Avenue and Field Place is where I truly grew up. That block held my childhood, my adolescence, and most of my young adulthood. Even when I lived on campus at Seton Hall University or moved to my first apartment not too far away, Wainright always pulled me back until I finally left in 2018.
Everything that shaped me was right there: walking to my best friend’s house up the street without thinking twice, grabbing snacks and subs from the corner stores on Chancellor Avenue, working shifts at Meat City, going to Little Chancellor (former Chancellor Avenue Annex) and Big Chancellor (Chancellor Avenue School), catching the 39 bus like it was second nature. Those weren’t just routines — they were my foundation.
So seeing my neighborhood on the news that was not too far from where I grew up wasn’t just another headline. It was a punch to the chest. Nostalgia flooded in first then heartache and a deep, familiar anger that sat heavy in my body.
And then I saw the names and ages.
A 10-year-old Pop Warner player who went to my old school.
A 21-year-old woman whose life had barely begun.
Multiple victims.
Multiple families torn apart.
That’s when the heartache settled in for real.
Growing up, we all knew the unwritten rule:
Kids. Women. Elderly. Off limits. Always.
That was the line. That was the street code.
Somehow that code is gone.
And the truth is, this is why I do the work I do.
People think mental health is soft.
People think therapy is optional.
People think emotions are a luxury.
But mental health skills are survival skills.
They are the difference between shutting down or exploding.
Between numbing out or breaking cycles.
Between reaching for a gun or finding a way to pause.
Between drowning in anger or naming it.
Between generations repeating pain or finally healing.
Therapy isn’t weakness.
It’s learning emotional language our neighborhoods didn’t have space to teach because they were too busy trying to keep us alive.
Moments like this remind me how deeply our communities are hurting. How much pressure people are holding. How much grief stays unspoken. How many children absorb trauma before they even understand the world.
As someone who sits with grief and trauma every day, I know the fallout, but when violence hits your block, your landmarks, your memories… it hits a place in the soul that doesn’t have words.
And with Thanksgiving approaching, as I prepare to return home to Jersey, this loss feels heavier. It’s grief layered with memory… and love. Love for a city that shaped me. Love for people who deserved more time. Love for a community that keeps trying to stand even when exhausted.
My heart is with Newark; with the families, the survivors, and everyone quietly carrying pain they don’t know how to name.
Some stories sit on your chest and stay there.
This one does.
May we keep finding small ways to breathe, heal, and take care of our hearts . And may Newark feel that healing, too, one tender moment at a time.
Brick City Strong
Written by Shantel “Shanti” Robinson, LCSW
Founder of Shanti’s Promise, LLC and Shanti’s Promise Clinical Wellness, PLLC
Empathy. Strength. Renewal.