Why Can’t I Just Get Over This?

The invisible connection between your current struggles and wounds you’ve never named

Let’s see…

You’re 35. Or 45. Or 55.

You’ve built a life. You have a job, maybe a family. From the outside, you look successful. But something’s wrong, and you can’t quite put your finger on it.

The anger explodes out of nowhere. Your wife says something minor, your kid disobeys, your boss questions a decision—and suddenly you’re in a rage that seems completely disconnected from whatever triggered it. Later, you can’t even explain why you reacted that way.

You struggle with every authority figure you’ve ever had. Bosses, pastors, coaches, police officers—anyone in a position of power over you triggers something deep inside. You’ve lost job opportunities because you couldn’t just keep your mouth shut. You’ve left churches because you couldn’t submit to leadership. You tell yourself it’s about principles, but deep down, you know it’s more than that.

Your marriage feels like a battlefield. Your wife says she can’t reach you emotionally. She complains that you’re either shut down completely or explosively angry—there’s no middle ground. Intimacy feels dangerous. Vulnerability feels impossible. You want to connect, but something inside won’t let you.

And God? If you’re honest, you don’t really trust Him. You go to church, maybe. You know the right answers. But the idea of God as a loving Father feels foreign, even threatening. Prayer feels like talking to someone who’s probably disappointed in you. The Bible’s promises of unconditional love sound nice—for other people.

Here’s the question that keeps you up at night: Why can’t I just get over this? Why am I like this?

And here’s the answer nobody wants to hear: It might not be about what’s happening now. It might be about what happened then—decades ago, in a childhood you’ve spent your whole adult life trying to forget.

The Invisible Connection

Let me ask you something: When you were a kid, what happened when you got angry?

Not frustrated. Not mildly irritated. Angry.

If you’re like most of us, you learned very quickly that anger was dangerous. Maybe you got beaten for showing it. Maybe you watched your father’s rage destroy things and swore you’d never be like him. Maybe anger was the only emotion that got any response at all in your house.

Now fast-forward to today. That anger you learned to suppress, fear, or weaponize? It’s still there. Except now it’s not a child’s anger—it’s decades of unprocessed rage, looking for an exit.

Your wife didn’t make you angry. Your childhood made you angry. She just happened to be standing there when 40 years of suppressed fury finally found a crack in the wall.

Authority Isn’t the Problem—Your Father Wound Is

Here’s another one: Why do you struggle with every boss, every pastor, every person in authority?

Let me guess what your childhood looked like: Your father’s “authority” was arbitrary, unpredictable, and cruel. The rules changed to justify whatever punishment was coming. You could do the same thing twice and get beaten once and praised once—it depended entirely on his mood, not your behavior.

You learned that authority figures can’t be trusted. That power gets abused. That the people who claim to have your best interests at heart are often the ones who hurt you most.

So now, as an adult, every authority figure triggers that same alarm: This person has power over me, and power gets abused.

It’s not about your boss. It’s not about your pastor. It’s about your father.

The authority issues that have cost you career opportunities? That’s not rebellion. That’s a wounded boy who learned that submission means getting hurt.

Why Your Wife Can’t Reach You

Your wife complains that you won’t open up. That you’re emotionally distant. That she feels like she’s living with a stranger.

She’s not imagining it.

Here’s what happened: When you were a boy, vulnerability was punished. Crying got you beaten or mocked. Sharing feelings got you labeled as weak. Needing comfort was met with contempt.

So you learned to shut down. You built walls. You became a fortress.

Those walls protected you then. They’re destroying your marriage now.

Because the woman who loves you can’t reach the man behind the walls. The children who need you can’t connect with a fortress. You’re so good at protecting yourself that you’ve protected yourself right into isolation.

And the worst part? You don’t even know how to tear the walls down anymore, even when you want to.

The God Problem

This is the one that really gets us.

The Bible says God is a loving Father. Pastors talk about running to Him for comfort. Other Christians seem to have this easy, trusting relationship with Him.

And you? You can’t do it.

You believe in God intellectually. You know the theology. But the idea of God as Father doesn’t bring comfort—it brings anxiety.

Here’s why: Your earthly father shaped how you see your Heavenly Father.

If your father’s love was conditional—based on performance, behavior, achievement—then God’s love feels the same way. You’re constantly trying to earn what’s supposed to be free.

If your father was unpredictable—loving one moment, violent the next—then God feels unpredictable. You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.

If your father used authority to hurt rather than protect—then God’s authority feels threatening. Submission to Him feels dangerous.

You can’t trust a “Good Father” because you’ve never actually experienced one.

The sermons about God’s unconditional love bounce off you because they describe something completely foreign to your experience. How can you trust love you’ve never known? How can you run to a Father when every father-figure in your life has either hurt you or abandoned you?

The Question You’re Afraid to Ask

Here it is: Could my current struggles be connected to things that happened when I was a kid?

The anger that destroys your relationships?
The authority issues that cost you opportunities?
The emotional shutdown that’s killing your marriage?
The inability to trust God as Father?

What if these aren’t character flaws? What if they’re symptoms?

Symptoms of wounds you’ve never acknowledged. Trauma you’ve never processed. Abuse you’ve never named.

I know what you’re thinking: “But that was a long time ago. I’m an adult now. Shouldn’t I be over it?”

Here’s the truth: You can’t get over what you won’t acknowledge. You can’t heal what you won’t name.

Those experiences didn’t stay in your childhood. They followed you into every relationship, every workplace, every attempt at love and connection. Your reactions aren’t random—they make perfect sense given what you experienced.

The Conspiracy of Silence

One in seven men experienced childhood sexual abuse.
One in four experienced physical abuse severe enough to leave marks.
Countless more suffered emotional abuse that’s never even measured.

Yet 65% of male survivors have never told anyone.

We carry it in silence because we’ve been taught that real men don’t talk about being hurt. That admitting you were once powerless makes you less of a man. That if you were really strong, this wouldn’t have happened to you.

But here’s what the silence costs: marriages destroyed by rage you can’t control, careers limited by authority issues you can’t overcome, relationships crippled by walls you can’t tear down, and spiritual lives strangled by a God you can’t trust.

The silence isn’t protecting you anymore. It’s killing you.

Breaking the Pattern

I was 65 years old before I could tell my full story.

Sixty-five years of carrying explosive anger, struggling with authority, building walls in my marriage, and viewing God through the lens of an abusive father.

What changed? I finally connected the dots.

I stopped asking “Why am I like this?” and started asking “What happened to me that made me like this?”

I stopped trying to fix my symptoms and started addressing my wounds.

And I discovered something our culture doesn’t want men to know: You are not defined by what was done to you. You are not condemned to repeat these patterns. Healing is actually possible.

Your Invitation

If you’re reading this and something’s stirring—recognition, maybe even fear—pay attention to that.

You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to be ready to share your full story. You don’t even have to be sure yet that your childhood qualifies as “abuse.”

Just ask yourself these questions:

• Do I struggle with anger that seems disconnected from what triggered it?
• Do I have authority issues I can’t quite explain?
• Does emotional intimacy feel dangerous or impossible?
• Do I struggle to trust God as a good Father?
• Have I carried shame about experiences I’ve never fully understood?

If you answered yes to even one of these, there might be a connection you haven’t made yet.

The conspiracy of silence ends when one man finds the courage to ask: “Could my current struggles be connected to wounds I’ve never acknowledged?”

Will you be that man?

Bill Anderson — Retired U.S. Army Major, author of Forged by Fire, and host of The Warrior Medic podcast.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS:

Which current struggle resonates most with you—anger, authority, emotional walls, or trusting God?

Have you ever made a connection between something in your adult life and something from your childhood? What was that “aha moment” like?

What’s one question you’ve been afraid to ask about your own past?