Not Angry Anymore — The Story Behind the Song

There are some songs we write from memory, and others we write from scars.
Not Angry Anymore came from the latter.

I’ve never been afraid to be honest in my music, but there are stories that sit deeper than others. Stories that shaped who we became long before we even realised life was shaping us. This song comes from a time in my childhood when everything shifted, when my parents separated, and the world I thought was stable began to crack.

I was the oldest brother.
That meant something to me, even at that age.
Even when I was still just a teenage kid myself.

During my parents’ separation, there was a weekend when I was left alone to look after my brothers. My mother had asked if I could stay with them, and of course I said yes. I didn’t question it. I felt responsible. That’s what big brothers do, or at least, that’s what I believed.

My father was struggling financially at the time. He would bring us canisters of oil for the heating system, but the oil ran out faster than anyone expected. And when the oil ran out, so did the heat. So did the hot water. The house grew cold as winter settled in, and suddenly the weekend felt much longer than two days.

My older one of my two little brothers, who has a mental handicap, had difficulty with basic routines back then. Accidents happened. Without hot water, even the simple things became complicated and overwhelming. The younger one of my brothers was still a small boy, too young to understand, but old enough to feel that something was wrong. He asked me questions I didn’t have answers to. Questions no child should have to ask another child.

Looking back now, I can still feel the weight of that weekend. The cold. The confusion. The fear of not knowing what to do, but trying to pretend I did, so my brothers wouldn’t panic.

Eventually an adult saw the situation, my aunt stopped by, and everything changed after that. Conversations were had, steps were taken, the adults took over again.
But for those two days, it was me in that house with my brothers.
And that experience carved its way into a part of me that I carried, quietly, for decades.

It shaped me more than I understood at the time.
It’s the reason I never wanted to become a father.
It’s the reason I learned to take responsibility earlier than I should have.
It’s the moment childhood ended for me.

And yet, this song is not about blame.

As adults, we often look back on our parents with a completely different lens. We see their humanity, not just their mistakes. We see the layers they carried from their childhoods, the wounds they never had the tools to heal, the circumstances that overwhelmed them.

My parents were human.
They did their best with what they had.
And sometimes what they had simply wasn’t enough.

I also know that sharing stories like this can reopen wounds, not just mine, but the wounds of others who lived through the same time. My younger brother is now a devoted father of two, with twins on the way. He has created a beautiful, stable life full of love and responsibility. I don’t know how much he remembers from those early years, and I would never want to drag his past into his present just to tell my own story.

My father is gone.
And when someone dies, especially by their own hand, people often freeze them in their best moments, holding onto the memories that comfort rather than the ones that hurt. I respect that. I don’t want to take that from anyone.

And my mother… she carries her own guilt from that time, more than anyone should. My intention is not to reopen that pain for her either.

So this story is not about what anyone did wrong.
It is about what I carried, and finally, what I’ve learned to put down.

Not Angry Anymore is a song about forgiveness, not the dramatic kind, but the quiet one. The kind that comes slowly, like thawing ice. The kind that doesn’t excuse what happened, but understands it. The kind that sees the child you were and the adult you became, and tries to bridge the distance between them.

It’s a song for anyone who grew up too fast.
For anyone who had to be strong before they were ready.
For anyone who has learned, years later, that anger eventually softens into something else—something gentler, something clearer.

You can’t rewrite the past.
But you can decide how much of it you still carry.

Writing this song didn’t change what happened.
But it changed how heavy it feels inside me.
And for the first time in my life, I can look back at that cold house, that scared teenage boy, those two small kids relying on him, and say:

“I’m not angry anymore.”

Because I finally understand that all of us, my parents, my brothers, myself, were just trying to survive the only way we knew how.

—J.P.