Anger: From Fire to Choice — understanding our reactions and returning to everyday life

An extended review of Dmytro Telushko’s book

At night, Andrii is once again composing a reply to his former manager. The conversation ended long ago, but now, in the dark, he finds the precise words that escaped him then. He imagines naming the injustice, his manager finally falling silent, everything falling into place. A few minutes later, another version appears, more convincing still. Sleep slips away, his jaw tightens, and by morning he has little energy left for people and tasks that had nothing to do with that conflict.

This scene from Anger: From Fire to Choice reveals one of anger’s less visible costs. It can stay with someone after they have stopped shouting, left the room or politely ended an exchange of messages. On the outside, the day continues; inside, they keep returning to an event that absorbs their attention. The question of anger therefore concerns both what we do during conflict and how much of our lives it occupies afterwards.

MriyaRun has published Dmytro Telushko’s practical book about this experience. It contains 414 pages, five thematic parts, six practice programmes of 28 steps each, and an observation journal. Personal stories, explanations, imagery and written exercises help readers examine a reaction from its first signal to its consequences. The book can be used independently, at the reader’s own pace; where violence or loss of control threatens safety, protection and outside help take priority. The printed book is in Ukrainian.

After a harsh reply, our own verdict can sometimes be the hardest thing to bear: “I lost it again. Why am I like this?” Shame and the demand to become a different person immediately join the original irritation. Next time, there are already two things to monitor: the conversation and whether a forbidden feeling is emerging inside. This additional struggle can consume considerable energy.

At the beginning of the book, the author recalls his teenage wish to learn how to switch feelings off. There seemed to be people somewhere who never felt afraid, angry or overwhelmed, so surely enough effort could make him one of them. Later, the question itself changes. The search for a way to feel nothing gives way to curiosity about what is happening and why a reaction becomes so strong.

Psychoeducation — an understandable explanation of psychological processes — can ease this additional tension. When someone distinguishes emotion, impulse and action, it becomes easier to examine a particular episode. They may notice that a changed agreement made them angry, that they wanted to send a hurtful reply, but that they put the message aside. This description supplies details they can work with and shows where a choice has already been made.

Knowledge does not remove the experience. It helps us stop explaining every difficult reaction as a sign of personal defectiveness and see our responsibility more precisely. Sometimes that brings relief even before the conflict itself has been resolved.

Before reaching definitions of anger, the reader arrives on Mykhailivska Street in Zhytomyr. A teenager notices differences between lottery tickets, offers others advice, accepts a challenge, wins, steps away and returns for another chance. He then enters a bookshop, where a stranger’s words catch him again. This time, the consequence is a book he buys.

The same sensitivity to a challenge takes part in different decisions. At the lottery stall, it encourages him to continue playing after he has decided to stop. In the bookshop, irritation keeps him near a subject that will later acquire significance. The author returns to these events years afterwards, examining what was difficult to notice at the time.

This opening establishes a way of reading the whole book. First comes a person with conflicting wishes, someone else’s remark, their own stubbornness and the consequences of a decision. Explanation develops alongside that experience. This also makes it easier to investigate ourselves without treating every story as further proof that we should have behaved better.

Different circumstances can sit behind “Everything irritates me.” Someone has not slept, fears losing their job, feels ashamed of a mistake, needs help, or faces a broken agreement for the third time. If all these experiences receive the same name, the response can easily become the same too: endure, argue or withdraw.

The first part of the book helps readers notice bodily changes, thoughts and impulses; the fourth returns to the shades of an experience. Irritation, rage, resentment, shame, guilt, helplessness, anxiety, envy and disappointment call for different questions. When Andrii loses a promised opportunity to present a joint project, he is affected by his manager’s behaviour, his colleague’s success and the future he has already imagined for himself. One word is not enough for all of this.

A more precise description allows the work to be separated. A broken agreement can be discussed or documented. Envy may reveal a desired opportunity. Disappointment needs time to acknowledge the loss of what was expected. These processes can unfold alongside each other; no single successful reply to the manager completes them all at once.

Research on naming emotions also gives us reason to examine this skill. In a series of laboratory experiments, participants reported less distress when they labelled emotions while viewing negative images than when they viewed them passively. This is a limited experimental finding, rather than a test of this book’s effectiveness. In everyday use, words primarily help us describe a state more accurately and decide what to do next. Lieberman and colleagues, 2011.

In one of the author’s stories, a driver passes a stop sign, nearly causes a collision, then gets out and angrily approaches the people who had to brake. He is convinced they created the danger. When someone points out the signs, his understanding changes almost immediately.

The scene makes the difference between the intensity of an experience and the accuracy of a conclusion particularly clear. The fear and anger were real. The mistake concerned who had broken the rule. In messages or family conversations, the relevant sign is often harder to spot: instead, there is a short reply, an unread message or a tone of voice we have explained to ourselves before asking for clarification.

The book invites a pause at this moment. What happened? What have I added to what is known? Which facts support my version? Checking leaves room both to defend a boundary that has been crossed and to acknowledge a mistake. Both decisions require contact with reality, especially when being right already feels so important.

The book consistently distinguishes anger, aggressive impulses, behaviour and violence. This distinction matters both to someone ashamed of irritation itself and to someone who explains shouting through the intensity of their pain. We can be angry, express disagreement, end a conversation and refuse. Insults, threats and coercion remain our responsibility, however understandable the reason for the anger may be.

Here, psychoeducation helps us examine the sequence. What happened before the outburst? Which signal went unnoticed? When could the conversation still have been stopped? What needs to change now? An explanation of our reaction gains value when it influences what we do next.

The fifth part therefore goes beyond the familiar advice to apologise. After harsh behaviour, another person may remain afraid even when the person responsible has calmed down. Repair requires stopping harmful behaviour, addressing specific consequences and repeated experiences through which change becomes visible. Another person’s trust returns at its own pace; we cannot make it catch up with our own relief.

The second part returns to development: the right to be, act, think independently, use one’s strength, learn and grow up. Through stories about Marko and his parents, readers can trace how a child’s protest meets an adult response and how available ways of expressing wishes and disagreement gradually emerge.

For an adult reader, this offers a way to examine a personal habit. Why can a refusal of a small request sometimes feel humiliating? Why is it so difficult to say that help is needed? Why does every critical remark invite a rebuttal before it has even been heard in full? The book uses Pamela Levin’s developmental cycles model to raise these questions while maintaining attention to present circumstances.

A strong reaction does not identify an age at which someone has supposedly become “stuck.” Real injustice, pain, lack of sleep and unequal power may be affecting it today. The past adds meaning to the investigation, but it can easily become an explanation for too much. It is more useful to ask which skill is needed now: making a request, refusing, tolerating the learning process or deciding without someone else’s approval.

Six practice programmes of 28 steps each accompany these subjects. Readers can return to them selectively. If an exercise helps someone notice habitual silence or formulate one request, there is already something to compare with daily experience. Completing every task consecutively is not a condition for that experience.

The third part examines closeness, hidden conflict, control, work as a place of constant defence, and the possibility of saying no. Here, personal needs meet another person’s independent will. A request allows for an answer we may dislike. If refusal brings punishment, pressure or demands to prove love, something significant in the interaction has changed.

For someone who has long agreed automatically, the first direct objection may bring fear and guilt. A useful outcome of reading might look ordinary: they stop promising the impossible and explain how much work they can actually complete. Or they notice that “Everything’s fine” ends a conversation they will revisit that evening with fresh resentment.

Understanding someone does not require agreeing to their demands. Equally, our desire for closeness leaves a partner the right to refuse. Where relationships involve threats, coercion or danger, a calm conversation is no longer sufficient: protection and support outside the conflict are needed.

Under intense arousal, even familiar words may become inaccessible. Someone hears only the hurtful part of a remark, rushes to reply and becomes less aware of the consequences. In its chapters on narrowing choices and movement, the book returns attention to the state in which decisions are made.

Sometimes the first step is to stop exchanging messages, step away from the argument and allow time. If contact is safe, we can say that we will return to the conversation later. Manageable physical activity may also be part of recovery; the author describes his experience of running without making it a universal prescription.

When choosing an activity, it is worth noticing whether arousal decreases. In a meta-analysis of 154 studies, activities aimed at reducing physiological arousal reduced anger and aggression on average. Activities that increased arousal showed no overall reduction. Advice to “punch the anger out” therefore has a weak foundation; the value of movement for an individual should be assessed through their state and subsequent actions. Kjærvik and Bushman, 2024.

For Andrii in the night-time scene, the next step is distinguishing reflection from mental replay. Useful reflection can hurt, but it adds a fact, clarifies a decision or leads to action. The argument rehearsed at night contains no new information, and the promise of a final answer keeps moving further away.

A return to everyday life can be noticed in simple things. Someone prepares an appeal and puts it aside until working hours. They arrange a conversation and then return to dinner. They notice another rehearsal of the argument and turn to a task they have postponed all week. The injustice does not disappear, but it stops occupying every available minute.

Psychoeducation may help us recognise these repetitions earlier and move sooner towards an available action or rest. Describing this as a guaranteed speed of recovery would be inaccurate. For some people, change begins with one conversation handled differently; others need support, sustained practice and changes in their living conditions.

The book ends with an observation journal. Its spreads provide space for the day’s main emotion, an event that caused irritation, bodily sensations, an intention and an experience worth revisiting. After seven entries, readers are invited to look back briefly at repetitions and changes.

A single entry may seem insignificant. The work chat was irritating again, the shoulders hurt again, and saying no immediately was difficult again. Alongside previous entries, however, it may become clear that the reaction intensifies towards the end of an exhausting day, while clarifying a task in time shortens the argument. Or that a pause came earlier than last time.

These observations help readers assess change through their own experience. Perhaps anger still arises often, but becomes harshness less frequently. Perhaps it is possible to return to work the same day after a disagreement. Perhaps an entry has revealed a need for help that was difficult to name alone for a long time.

Readers can enter the book through a question that matters now. If their state is difficult to understand, they can begin with recognising emotions and their shades. If tension accumulates in closeness or at work, they can open the part on interaction. If a conflict has already happened, they can turn to choosing actions, repairing harm and repetitive thoughts. The stories and explanations can be read in sequence, with exercises revisited when there is energy for them.

One episode that remains reasonably clear is enough for a first attempt. Reconstruct the event, notice the first thought, name the feeling and recall the action. Then consider what might be worth checking next time. Reading thereby finds a specific place among messages, agreements, work tasks and conversations at home.

Anger: From Fire to Choice leaves room for difficult feelings while offering more ways of responding to them. Its practical purpose lies in noticing ourselves earlier, understanding situations more accurately, taking responsibility for our actions and preserving attention for what happens after a conflict. Relationships, work, rest and personal plans remain there, waiting for our return.