One of the most beautiful things you can do when you’re overly emotional is carefully describe what it is you’re feeling.
Not only does this practice help you, but your account may carve a doorway where, for another, existed nothing but walls.
“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”
Dr. Seuss
To which I would change to:
Cry if you feel to, smile at the wholeness of what happened.
Not as catchy, I admit. But, worth considering.
Telling yourself not to cry—to not acknowledge the weight of a hard situation is to reject a key component of any given experience.
Only focusing on the smiles will limit depth. Only focusing on depth will limit smiles. It’s the whole experience—the entirety of the human experience—that we should be after.
Allow yourself to flow freely between both—and all.
Various thoughts consume various amounts of mental energy.
Deep, intense, painful thoughts consume a lot.
Superficial, light, fleeting thoughts consume a little.
If you don’t deal with the gas-guzzling thoughts, you’ll be left feeling constantly exhausted.
And, maybe better put, if you constantly feel exhausted, maybe it’s precisely because you haven’t dealt with the gas-guzzling thoughts.
Emotionally charged energy is amongst the most powerful sources of energy for a human there is.
Think about the energy of a mom when she’s protecting her child’s life, or the lover after they’ve experienced heartbreak, or even a friend when they see a ref make a bad call during a sports game.
It’s during some of our most emotional moments when we are filled with some of our most potent, raw sources of energy.
What matters isn’t where it comes from—whether from perceptively positive or negative emotions—but how we choose to channel and express it.
Choose a constructive outlet and it can fuel the erection of an entire city.
Choose a destructive outlet and it can level the likes of an entire city.
The worst thing you can do is give it no outlet.
For energy left to pressurize without any source of release has but one, ultimate fate: explosion.
And what a tragedy for destruction to come from the energy that could have created so much for so many.
This post became the afterword for: A Short Story About Frida Kahlo And The Unexpected Gifts Pain Can Provide [Excerpt]
All pain is real.
Because pain is subjective and is only really experienced by the experiencer.
This is why no one can or should tell you how to feel about your pain.
Only you can be the judge of that.
That said, the intensity of your pain is also only yours to manage.
So, here’s one handy trick that can help deplete pain of its power: stop trying to prove how badly you’ve been hurt.
You have nothing to prove.
And even your best attempts to prove your pain only end up intensifying it.
Better would be to treat pain like the signal it is and respond to that signal deliberately and with compassion.
Much better than catastrophizing it just so that people might believe you that it’s there.
If I wanted to balance a long stick on just one finger, I would use trial and error.
I would guess and place my finger at a center point, catch it when (if) it tipped, readjust my finger, and repeat until I had it.
If you want to maintain your emotional center, following the same, simple formula might help.
First, get a gauge on which emotional direction you’re tipping. Then, identify the emotional opposite. And, like when you’re trying to balance a long stick on your finger, adjust until you find equilibrium. Some examples:
But, not too much of the opposite, of course, because then you’ll tip in that direction instead.
Having too much of a good thing can cause you to emotionally lose balance all the same.
As Aristotle famously suggested, shoot for the mean between extremes.
Where you’re neither overly sensitive nor senseless, but aligned, aware, and at peace.
Most of us will choose a familiar pain over an unknown alternative.
We gravitate towards the familiar because it gives us a false sense of safety.
And so long as we continue to cling to that false sense of safety, we shouldn’t expect to get anything different than the same old, familiar pain. Time and time again.
But, what if, what lies in the unknown isn’t greater pain, but a place where there’s better pain?
What if, it’s precisely in the unknown where the pains of growth, love, and healing lie?