Last month we asked readers to share stories of a recent instance when they or a loved one erupted in anger — and then regretted it. We received nearly 500 responses, most of which tied their outbursts to far-reaching stressors such as the pandemic, divisive politics and the effects of climate change.

Their stories reminded us of Nina Simone’s song “Please Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” when she says: “Baby, do you understand me now if sometimes you see that I’m mad? Don’t you know that no one alive can always be an angel? When everything goes wrong, you see some bad.”

In these seven stories, people may act in ways that seem to be bad. More heartening, though, is how often the shock of their outbursts jolts them into a place of self-reflection and empathy.

‘My Friends Had the Gall to Continue Being Cheerful’

After many months of lockdowns in England, my wife and I were finally able to visit our close friends in London. My wife and I arrived on time for our coffee date, but our friends showed up 10 minutes late. This deeply annoyed me. They had suggested the time and place, and I had cut my run short to accommodate them. Wasn’t that inconsiderate?

I said something passive-aggressive, like, “So glad you could make it!” They didn’t react, nor did they apologize for their tardiness. This filled me with incandescent rage. How dare they? My friends had the gall to continue being cheerful the entire time we hung out.

Later, I rehashed the incident with my wife. She didn’t think it was a big deal, but I burst into sobs.

“I don’t want to be friends with them anymore!” I said, while my wife stared at me, baffled. There I was, a 32-year-old woman sobbing on her wife’s chest because our dear friends were late for coffee. “You want us to end the friendship over this?” she asked mildly. “Yes!” I cried. My wife, bless her, had the awareness to let me bawl it out. Later, we laughed about my temporary insanity. The prolonged isolation of lockdown had turned me prickly, petulant, and socially brittle. I had forgotten how to be with people. — Amary Wiggin

‘I Don’t Think This Is a Funny Story’

This summer, my wife and I went to see “Top Gun: Maverick” in the theater, our first movie outing since the pandemic began. A group of teenagers sitting one row in front of us kept using their cellphones.

As the climactic final sequence approached, I saw a phone ascend for a selfie. When the flash went off, I lost it. I stepped down to their row, grabbed the arm of the guy who took the selfie and cursed in their faces, saying that I had waited 30 years to see this sequel. I stormed back to my seat. The phones did not come out again.

The first few times I recounted the incident to friends and family, I told it as a Get-Off-My-Lawn-style comedy, highlighting how, before confronting them, I threw aside the oversized scarf we bring to movie theaters (because my legs get cold!) It got big laughs.

However, on a walk about a week later, my wife offered a different take. “I don’t think this is a funny story,” she said. “Those kids must have been terrified. And I’ve never, ever seen you do anything like that.” That changed the lens. What made me feel entitled to treat another person like that, even for a brief moment? I don’t tell the story anymore. When I think about it, I just remember their shocked faces and silent nods in the blue light from the movie screen and feel ashamed. — David Lock

‘Without Thinking, I Spun My Minivan Around’

After Roe v. Wade was overturned, I was driving home while listening to a man from the advocacy group Ohio Right to Life speak on NPR. I felt heartache at the Supreme Court’s decision; the man on the radio was only exacerbating my despair.

As I made my way through a roundabout, an old, white man in a red Cadillac honked at me while gesticulating and yelling. I didn’t understand why he was upset. I hadn’t cut him off or broken any traffic laws. As soon as I got through the roundabout, rage rose within me. It was visceral and unlike any anger I had felt before.

Without thinking, I spun my minivan around and sped off to find the man in the Cadillac. For 10 minutes, I drove like a complete idiot trying to find this man to tell him … I’m not sure what! But in that moment he represented every man who ever made a woman feel inferior and I’d had enough.

That outburst was terrifying, and I’m glad I never found him. Chasing a stranger through the streets of Dublin, Ohio was not my proudest moment, but I see it as a reaction to losing my own autonomy. — Erin Eppich Miller

‘I Needed to Quit My Job That Day’

It was a beautiful fall day in Washington, D.C. Sunny and 70 degrees. Stress at remote work had been building for months, maybe years. I desperately wanted to take a walk but couldn’t pull myself away from my laptop. “Just one more email,” I kept thinking.

As the sun began to set, my partner walked into the apartment and simply said, “It’s really nice out. Have you been outside?”

Rage came over me like a tsunami. I threw my laptop against the wall. I screamed words I don’t even remember, but I do remember my partner’s response: “That’s it. Call your boss. You’re done. We’ll figure something out, but if this is how it’s going to be, it’s not worth it.”

I left the apartment, slamming the front gate, pacing around Logan Circle with rage pulsing through my body. My legs tingled for nearly 30 minutes. As soon as I came to my senses, I knew I had to apologize.

My partner accepted my apology with generosity. But that doesn’t make my outburst OK. He deserves better than that. I deserved tougher consequences. I called my doctor to get a referral for a therapist. The wait was three months. I’m still waiting. I needed to quit my job that day. I didn’t. I still haven’t, but I know that I need to. — Scott Voelkerding

‘Fear Briefly Overpowered Empathy’

I prided myself on calmly helping my family through pandemic lockdowns, home-school, remote work and multiple power outages. (“It’s an adventure, kids!”)

When forest fires made our summer air toxic in Portland, Ore., I drove to a hardware store far across town to gather materials to make a homemade air purifier. My partner, Nick, lugged a heavy AC unit up from the basement which we hoped would cool and clean the air coming into our 90-degree home.

After a day, I realized that the AC was filling the children’s rooms with noxious air. When I asked my partner to help me alter the AC unit, he said there was nothing we could do, and that “a lot of people have things worse than we do.” I totally lost my mind, yelling, “I don’t care about other people!”

For work, I help women who are at risk of human trafficking. Caring about other people is central to my life. But on that day, fear briefly overpowered empathy. I was enraged because I felt powerless to keep my children safe. — Rachel Kinley

‘Did You Just Put Something in My Trash?’

My partner and I were on our normal dog walk on a beautiful summer afternoon. On the way out of the woods, we dropped our dog waste bag in a neighbor’s trash can that sits at the mouth of a wooded trail. We’re always grateful that this neighbor, whose house is up a long driveway (it’s a semirural area), leaves his can there all the time. You’re supposed to wheel it back to your house in between weekly pickups, but this one is always there and saves us and many others from having to carry our bags all the way home.

Anyway, we dropped it in the can and headed off, but this time we turned at the sound of hard-hitting footsteps on the gravel to see a middle-aged man striding purposefully toward us. “Hey, did you just put something in my trash?” he said. “What are your names?” Being good neighbors, we cheerfully responded. He then proceeded to berate us with accusations of ruining his life with our dog waste. How could we be so selfish! We looked so nice; how could we even for one moment think this was OK?

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’d be happy to take it out.” But when I opened the can to do so, I laughed because the entire bottom third of the can was filled with dozens of colorful bags, all tied with their tidy knots, a confetti of dog waste.

But he must have thought I was mocking him by laughing and launched into a whole new tirade, at which point I lost it.

“This is no way to talk to your neighbor!” I yelled. “You’re the problem in this world! Go die!”

Imagine. Over dog poop!

My friend and I walked away, but I remain so embarrassed about the incident that we haven’t walked past his trash can since. Meaning I haven’t walked my dog on that trail since. Instead, we go the other direction and walk on the road, which isn’t fun for either of us. — Aliza Tuttle

‘I Don’t Want to Be That Guy’

I lost my temper at a restaurant one Sunday morning a few months ago. There was some confusion on my part about seating and I got angry at the waitress who corrected me. It was crowded, I wanted to sit where I had chosen, and I behaved badly when told I couldn’t. “If I have to move, I’m out of here,” I yelled, getting louder and louder. I was causing a scene; people started looking. But I felt like I was being treated unfairly and, after letting the waitress have it, I stormed out. It was dumb and senseless, embarrassing and out of character. But after being cooped for so long during the pandemic, I’d forgotten how to act around people. I felt impatient and entitled — and quick to anger.

My wife was with me, and she was humiliated. We were also supposed to be meeting friends, and we had to tell them what happened and that we could no longer meet; I was essentially banned from the establishment. It was a long, silent car ride home. I was too worked up to apologize. But the universe has a way of teaching me things.

The next day we went out to a different restaurant, where I watched someone else, a woman waiting in line to pay, erupt in front of the whole restaurant when somebody stepped in front of her to grab his takeout order. She said, “Hey, I was here first.” He apologized, even though they weren’t even in the same line, but she brushed it off and continued to yell, calling him a racist. It was awful to watch, and it made me realize what I had put everyone through when I lost my temper the previous day.

I don’t want to be that guy. I hope I never am again. — Daniel Crowl

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