A lifetime enveloped in a benign, insulating cloud of oestrogen left me ill-prepared to be this nakedly, shockingly angry as it ebbs away in perimenopause. It is occasionally exhilarating, but mainly awful, being furious about so many things: the government, contradictory dental advice, inaction on climate breakdown, whatever cat keeps defecating at my back door. I exist at an exhausting, irrational rolling simmer that periodically comes to a head with me inappropriately venting, realising I’m being unreasonable, shamefacedly having a word with myself, then getting cross again.

Help may be at hand, however, according to research from Japan, which suggests that writing your grievances on paper then throwing it away may make you less angry. Study participants were deliberately angered by researchers criticising their work and adding gratuitous insulting comments. Participants then wrote down how they felt and either threw the paper away, shredded it or kept it. The ones who disposed of the paper “completely eliminated their anger”.

Although participants were mostly in their – surely less irate? – early 20s, I had to test if it worked on midlife rage too. Dissipating my Boris Johnson or Rwanda policy rage seemed an impossibly big ask, but I wrote them down, plus some pettier, momentary furies: “Why am I the only one who deals with expired hummus?”; “Man in gravel driveway methodically spraying tiny, hopeful dandelion shoots”; “Malfunctioning laptop fan”; and “Towels piled up wet”. All classics.

I found the act of crumpling or ripping (I don’t have a shredder) very physically satisfying – a tiny haptic catharsis. But, examining my feelings afterwards, I was as tooth-grindingly angry about Johnson’s existence as ever. The smaller irritations mostly melted away, but I think the mere act of committing my hummus chuntering to paper was enough to show me how ridiculous I was in quite an anger-deflating way. I’m not sure that disposing of my angry scrawls added anything. Perhaps what would really help my anger management is a running grievance list, whereby I write about everything and everyone I’m cross with. What could possibly go wrong?

• Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist