Luca Amato 
Chief Editor
From Married At First Sight Australia to this year's buzziest novel
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“I have to imagine that most men have, at some point, punched something,” says Ryan Martin, a psychology professor at the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay and author of Why We Get Mad. “It’s a relatively common approach to dealing with anger – for many people, but especially men.”
Earlier this month a 30-year-old groom on Married At First Sight Australiaadmitted to punching a door off-camera, prompting a police probe. In Flesh, one of the most talked-about novels of the year, the protagonist does it while alone, without being able to say why.
Outside of fiction, reliable – or recent – data on the phenomenon is hard to come by. An analysis of emergency-room visits to around 100 US hospitals in 2014 suggested that an average of 104 people presented with wall-punching injuries every month. Records showed that they were overwhelmingly teenagers, approximately three-quarters male and mostly acting on “fits of rage”.
Martin’s own childhood bedroom still bears two holes in the doorframe – one from each of his brothers. “It’s why I study anger,” he says. (He can’t remember a specific incident, but assumes that he did the same.)
First-person accounts are relatively sparse, reflecting the shame such outbursts often result in. Back in 1992 Sebastian Junger, the now-celebrated war journalist, wrote about punching a wall during a disagreement with his then-girlfriend in The New York Times. “If I had known how hard the wall was, I never would have hit it like that,” he wrote. And yet, Junger added: “practically every man in my circle of friends had done the same thing”.
The question is: why?
Anger evolved partly “to energise us to confront injustice or unfair treatment of some kind,” Martin says. “We want to release that energy in some way. Some people are just better at that than others.”
In the heat of the moment, marrying that emotional desire to lash out with action by punching a wall, door or object can feel urgent, necessary, and even good. When we are angry, the so-called “emotional brain” – a network encompassing the tiny, almond-shaped amygdala and the hypothalamus – seizes control from the more rational prefrontal cortex, spurring us on with adrenaline, cortisol and other energising hormones. That high level of arousal negatively affects our cognitive function, including concentration – hence why we often struggle to remember explosive arguments.
But as journalist Sam Parker points out in his forthcoming book, Good Anger: How rethinking rage can change our lives, though anger is often conflated with aggression, it is an emotion – as natural as sadness or joy – and does not bind us to bad behaviour. “Far from violence and aggression being the inevitable end point or the ultimate expression of anger, ” he writes, “these acts are often just another form of anger avoidance. We lose our tempers when we find the very feeling of anger – with the hurt, pain and disrespect it often signals – intolerable.”
We have a decision how we respond to anger, but that response is often socially mediated. Despite women experiencing anger no less than men, the differences between how men and women are socialised – culturally as well as by their caregivers – is one reason for the gender split in wall-punching, says Martin. “Across most cultures, physical aggression is modelled more regularly for men.” Such outbursts may even be endorsed, tacitly or otherwise, as a display of confidence, passion or masculinity. (“I distinctly remember thinking, at the moment of release, ‘Now she’ll see how upset I am’,” wrote Junger.)
When, in Noah Baumbach’s 2019 film Marriage Story, Adam Driver’s character thumps a hole in the wall during a ferocious argument with his soon-to-be ex-wife (played by Scarlett Johansson), the outburst is meant to convey the intensity of his emotion. As the TV Tropes website says of wall-punching in popular culture: “The hero needs to hit something to prove he’s a badass, but can’t hit anyone because that would be unheroic… His pain proves he is sincere.”
It can also be a cry for help, as in David Szalay’s new novel Flesh. Smoking in bed, on a lazy afternoon, the protagonist István abruptly punches a door, leaving a dent and breaking his right hand. István can’t explain the outburst to his mother or doctor, or even to himself – only that it felt “as purely physical and involuntary as throwing up”. The reader, however, recognises that István, who is recently ex-military, is traumatised from having served in Iraq.
It tallies with research linking angry outbursts with depression, post-traumatic stress disorder and other mental health conditions. David Woolfson, a psychotherapist specialising in anger, says many men often don’t feel able to express their emotions or be vulnerable. “A man has to be hard and tough… We build up all these defence mechanisms and end up punching walls, because we’re terrified that someone’s going to find out that we have feelings we don’t like.”
Regardless of how we might act on it, Woolfson goes on, in essence “anger tells us something’s wrong – sometimes correctly, and sometimes incorrectly”. It’s a “myth” that punching a wall can coexist with self-control, he says. Woolfson likens it to road rage, as an act of “displaced anger”: though it might not escalate into violence against another person, it can’t be separated from an intent to intimidate. “There’s an implied threat – you don’t need to punch a person to terrorise them.” Wall-punching can be a precursor to hurting others, or part of a pattern of coercive control. But, Woolfson adds, it’s not a straightforward warning sign when, fundamentally, “it’s very much a self-harming behaviour” – one capable of causing serious and lasting damage to the bone, tissue and nerves.
Mike Fisher is the co-founder of the British Association of Anger Management. He says the shame around anger can be so strong, people may not seek treatment for even serious injuries that arise from wall-punching – or else lie about the cause. “They’d be so ashamed to say they punched a wall, they’d say they had an accident,” he says.
In Fisher’s experience, wall-punching is more common in people who tend to bottle up their anger – known as “imploders” – than those who frequently erupt. “They learn at a very young age to stuff down that rage and fury – but it has to go somewhere, and that’s the point when they start smashing stuff up.” (Fisher’s other term for the phenomenon is “Ikea syndrome”: flat-pack furniture is a frequent trigger for all that suppressed rage.)
For that reason, while wall-punching may not be a clear or consistent expression of anger, it’s worth taking seriously and even potentially raising with a professional, Fisher says. “The problem is, most people feel terribly ashamed about their anger, so it takes a lot of courage to act… But anger will not go away – it only gets worse.”
It might be tempting to view a hole in the wall or a dented door frame as a one-off, a slip-up in exceptional circumstances. But Martin says that “it’s relatively rare” for a person to suddenly snap at a single provocation. More likely is that they have been struggling with anger, stressed or otherwise elevated for a while.
And though letting loose on doors, walls or objects seems to offer emotional release, if only in the short-term, it risks starting a vicious cycle. Contrary to popular belief, venting anger doesn’t actually work to relieve or reduce the impulse: what’s known to researchers as “the catharsis myth”.
People believe it must be beneficial to work their anger out on a punching bag or pillow “because it feels good”, says Martin – but over time, “that becomes your go-to expression style: it’s a ‘practice makes permanent’ sort of thing.”
It may not be practical to tell people to catch themselves when they’re on the cusp of smashing a door frame, and take a couple of deep breaths instead. But learning how to appropriately respond to anger takes time and practice – “just like any other skill,” says Martin. “Ultimately, people need to be able to ‘find their pause’ in that moment when they’re escalated… You’re better off avoiding physical expressions of anger and finding other ways to channel your emotions.”
Reflecting on past triggers or angry episodes can highlight ways to intervene, and help improve that response in the moment, Martin says. So can learning to recognise the signs that stress is building, and finding healthy ways to address it before it boils over.
But whatever the meaning of a hole in the wall, or the motivation, it can be taken as a warning sign. “Anyone who’s regularly punching things and is okay with it – that’s alarming,” says Martin. “People who, as adults, do it every now and then, who can’t seem to control themselves and regret it afterwards – that’s still kind of alarming.”
All products are independently selected by our editors. If you buy something, we may earn an affiliate commission.
“I have to imagine that most men have, at some point, punched something,” says Ryan Martin, a psychology professor at the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay and author of Why We Get Mad. “It’s a relatively common approach to dealing with anger – for many people, but especially men.”
Earlier this month a 30-year-old groom on Married At First Sight Australiaadmitted to punching a door off-camera, prompting a police probe. In Flesh, one of the most talked-about novels of the year, the protagonist does it while alone, without being able to say why.
Outside of fiction, reliable – or recent – data on the phenomenon is hard to come by. An analysis of emergency-room visits to around 100 US hospitals in 2014 suggested that an average of 104 people presented with wall-punching injuries every month. Records showed that they were overwhelmingly teenagers, approximately three-quarters male and mostly acting on “fits of rage”.
Martin’s own childhood bedroom still bears two holes in the doorframe – one from each of his brothers. “It’s why I study anger,” he says. (He can’t remember a specific incident, but assumes that he did the same.)
First-person accounts are relatively sparse, reflecting the shame such outbursts often result in. Back in 1992 Sebastian Junger, the now-celebrated war journalist, wrote about punching a wall during a disagreement with his then-girlfriend in The New York Times. “If I had known how hard the wall was, I never would have hit it like that,” he wrote. And yet, Junger added: “practically every man in my circle of friends had done the same thing”.
The question is: why?
Anger evolved partly “to energise us to confront injustice or unfair treatment of some kind,” Martin says. “We want to release that energy in some way. Some people are just better at that than others.”
In the heat of the moment, marrying that emotional desire to lash out with action by punching a wall, door or object can feel urgent, necessary, and even good. When we are angry, the so-called “emotional brain” – a network encompassing the tiny, almond-shaped amygdala and the hypothalamus – seizes control from the more rational prefrontal cortex, spurring us on with adrenaline, cortisol and other energising hormones. That high level of arousal negatively affects our cognitive function, including concentration – hence why we often struggle to remember explosive arguments.
But as journalist Sam Parker points out in his forthcoming book, Good Anger: How rethinking rage can change our lives, though anger is often conflated with aggression, it is an emotion – as natural as sadness or joy – and does not bind us to bad behaviour. “Far from violence and aggression being the inevitable end point or the ultimate expression of anger, ” he writes, “these acts are often just another form of anger avoidance. We lose our tempers when we find the very feeling of anger – with the hurt, pain and disrespect it often signals – intolerable.”
We have a decision how we respond to anger, but that response is often socially mediated. Despite women experiencing anger no less than men, the differences between how men and women are socialised – culturally as well as by their caregivers – is one reason for the gender split in wall-punching, says Martin. “Across most cultures, physical aggression is modelled more regularly for men.” Such outbursts may even be endorsed, tacitly or otherwise, as a display of confidence, passion or masculinity. (“I distinctly remember thinking, at the moment of release, ‘Now she’ll see how upset I am’,” wrote Junger.)
When, in Noah Baumbach’s 2019 film Marriage Story, Adam Driver’s character thumps a hole in the wall during a ferocious argument with his soon-to-be ex-wife (played by Scarlett Johansson), the outburst is meant to convey the intensity of his emotion. As the TV Tropes website says of wall-punching in popular culture: “The hero needs to hit something to prove he’s a badass, but can’t hit anyone because that would be unheroic… His pain proves he is sincere.”
It can also be a cry for help, as in David Szalay’s new novel Flesh. Smoking in bed, on a lazy afternoon, the protagonist István abruptly punches a door, leaving a dent and breaking his right hand. István can’t explain the outburst to his mother or doctor, or even to himself – only that it felt “as purely physical and involuntary as throwing up”. The reader, however, recognises that István, who is recently ex-military, is traumatised from having served in Iraq.
It tallies with research linking angry outbursts with depression, post-traumatic stress disorder and other mental health conditions. David Woolfson, a psychotherapist specialising in anger, says many men often don’t feel able to express their emotions or be vulnerable. “A man has to be hard and tough… We build up all these defence mechanisms and end up punching walls, because we’re terrified that someone’s going to find out that we have feelings we don’t like.”
Regardless of how we might act on it, Woolfson goes on, in essence “anger tells us something’s wrong – sometimes correctly, and sometimes incorrectly”. It’s a “myth” that punching a wall can coexist with self-control, he says. Woolfson likens it to road rage, as an act of “displaced anger”: though it might not escalate into violence against another person, it can’t be separated from an intent to intimidate. “There’s an implied threat – you don’t need to punch a person to terrorise them.” Wall-punching can be a precursor to hurting others, or part of a pattern of coercive control. But, Woolfson adds, it’s not a straightforward warning sign when, fundamentally, “it’s very much a self-harming behaviour” – one capable of causing serious and lasting damage to the bone, tissue and nerves.
Mike Fisher is the co-founder of the British Association of Anger Management. He says the shame around anger can be so strong, people may not seek treatment for even serious injuries that arise from wall-punching – or else lie about the cause. “They’d be so ashamed to say they punched a wall, they’d say they had an accident,” he says.
In Fisher’s experience, wall-punching is more common in people who tend to bottle up their anger – known as “imploders” – than those who frequently erupt. “They learn at a very young age to stuff down that rage and fury – but it has to go somewhere, and that’s the point when they start smashing stuff up.” (Fisher’s other term for the phenomenon is “Ikea syndrome”: flat-pack furniture is a frequent trigger for all that suppressed rage.)
For that reason, while wall-punching may not be a clear or consistent expression of anger, it’s worth taking seriously and even potentially raising with a professional, Fisher says. “The problem is, most people feel terribly ashamed about their anger, so it takes a lot of courage to act… But anger will not go away – it only gets worse.”
It might be tempting to view a hole in the wall or a dented door frame as a one-off, a slip-up in exceptional circumstances. But Martin says that “it’s relatively rare” for a person to suddenly snap at a single provocation. More likely is that they have been struggling with anger, stressed or otherwise elevated for a while.
And though letting loose on doors, walls or objects seems to offer emotional release, if only in the short-term, it risks starting a vicious cycle. Contrary to popular belief, venting anger doesn’t actually work to relieve or reduce the impulse: what’s known to researchers as “the catharsis myth”.
People believe it must be beneficial to work their anger out on a punching bag or pillow “because it feels good”, says Martin – but over time, “that becomes your go-to expression style: it’s a ‘practice makes permanent’ sort of thing.”
It may not be practical to tell people to catch themselves when they’re on the cusp of smashing a door frame, and take a couple of deep breaths instead. But learning how to appropriately respond to anger takes time and practice – “just like any other skill,” says Martin. “Ultimately, people need to be able to ‘find their pause’ in that moment when they’re escalated… You’re better off avoiding physical expressions of anger and finding other ways to channel your emotions.”
Reflecting on past triggers or angry episodes can highlight ways to intervene, and help improve that response in the moment, Martin says. So can learning to recognise the signs that stress is building, and finding healthy ways to address it before it boils over.
But whatever the meaning of a hole in the wall, or the motivation, it can be taken as a warning sign. “Anyone who’s regularly punching things and is okay with it – that’s alarming,” says Martin. “People who, as adults, do it every now and then, who can’t seem to control themselves and regret it afterwards – that’s still kind of alarming.”
