I've been away from this blog for awhile. This is both good and bad. It's bad because I have things to say and I want to track my psychological and physical life in this space. It's good because the reason is that I've finally gotten back to writing a book I've been working on for nearly two years. During times of great stress, I've found that I can't write creatively, and this blog has been there as a way of dealing with some of the demons, both internally and externally.
There's a lot about a person that she may or may not put out there for public consumption because of the risks involved in such disclosure. I'm not afraid of being judged as I believe most judgement flows from the insecurities of the judge and has nothing to do with the person being evaluated. Mainly, I'm impatient with being misunderstood and the burden I place upon myself when it comes to how to make myself clearly known.
I mentioned in a previous post about a dream that I've had a series of revelations about life since coming to America and many of them have occurred in the past month. This burst of revelation follows a change in how I've been managing my emotional life. It's very difficult to explain because it is similar to telling someone who is blind what it is like to see or trying to explain with words what a food tastes like when no such food exists in the area that someone else lives in. Nonetheless, I can't track my life here unless I try and risk failure, and fail I likely will.
I read an article in the New York Times yesterday about grief and how the theory that there are stages has been very destructive to those who are dealing with grief. One of the reasons for this is that people feel that they have failed if their emotions aren't unfolding according to plan. One of the commenters on this article even said that she was told by her therapist that she was being indulgent by not getting over her feelings.
This therapist is not alone in her opinion that people should "get over" their issues and not feel the feelings that they do. Since I've been depressed for long periods of time, and I know how people's eyes avert or they start to fidget uncomfortably when the topic comes up. It's not unusual for someone to ask me how I am, and for me to look at them and smile when I say, "Terrible." I do this because of the conflicting impulses that I have in this situation. I want to be honest, but I also know that they really do not want me to be honest. So, I tell the truth and temper it with a social reaction that they may be comforted by. This ends up with them thinking that I'm kidding when I'm not.
One of the things that is clear to me since coming "home" has been the inability of people to tolerate emotions, particularly negative ones, in other people. This manifests in a multitude of ways including fidgety behavior, changing of the topic, minimizing of the weight of ones situation/feelings, denial of the right to possess such feelings, and recommending that one "chooses" how one feels. I've seen enough articles on how happiness is a choice linked to on Facebook to fill a terabyte drive.
The reason that people do this is not that they want you to be happy. That is what they tell themselves. They think that they're helping you stop wallowing, offering advice that will make you feel better, or trying to provide context that will modify your perspective. What they tell themselves is what they need to manage the cognitive dissonance they feel about pushing your needs away so that they won't have to endure the discomfort they feel when confronted with them. They can't bear your pain and want it to go away. They also want to be good people who "help" you. They reconcile this with rationalizations, but it comes down to not being able to tolerate feelings, especially strong or negative ones.
At one point, I reached a realization that we all do this internally as well as externally. We can't sit with other people's pain because we also refuse to sit with our own pain. How often have you told yourself to "get over it" or "I shouldn't feel this way" or "I'm being silly/sentimental/stupid" for feeling things. This sense that we should stop our feelings is no surprise because, if others tell us not to feel our feelings enough, we will learn to tell ourselves to stop feeling them as well.
The problem with censoring your feelings or telling yourself you're not entitled to them is that it creates stress. There is a rubber band effect that shoots back at you when you aren't looking. You might be angry, frustrated, antsy, etc. in situations that are relatively benign. You also then start inflicting your intolerance on others because their feelings dredge up what you're trying so hard to suppress. It creates a huge mess.
At one point, some time around Christmas, I decided to stop doing that to myself. My husband and I attended a re-enactment of the birth of Christ at a local church. During the performance, a woman sang hymns with the fullness of emotion that she felt. If you allowed it, you could see that she felt truly inspired by her faith. The state of her rapture, as reflected in her song, was powerful, and I felt it because I allowed myself to be there with her in that moment. I didn't try to distract myself by looking at a cell phone or yammering nonsense to my husband. I didn't look away at something else or pretend that this was just a performance with fake energy pushing the words out. I let myself be there with her and I cried, and I didn't try to hide how I felt from the other people there for fear that they'd witness me feeling some feelings and be embarrassed on my behalf.
That woman was followed by a young woman whose mother had died two years earlier (when she was 16) and she spoke passionately about how her faith and the church had sustained her. I cried when she spoke, too, as I was also "with" her in her passion and gratitude. It was a beautiful thing to be a part of the experience these people had. Their faith really brought them something meaningful. Even if their faith was not mine, I could fully inhabit and appreciate that.
Since that time, I've tried to stop pushing my feelings back and to engage with the world more fully on an emotional level. I walked to a memorial for veterans and instead of objectifying the experience, I inhabited the full emotional impact of it. Those names were people. Someone loved them very much and hurt horribly when they died. Their families remembered them and wanted them remembered. I was there with them in that memory and grief, and I cried as I walked around the memorial.
Being there with yourself and others emotionally is not an easy thing, but it has cleared some roadblocks for me in living life in America. In Japan, people were always suppressing feelings of all sorts, but, in America, they only suppress some of them. You can be mad, but you can't be sad. You can be happy, but you can't be passionately so. You can be smirky and skeptical, but you can't have the rapture of belief. There's a flood of emotion all around me, but most of it is inauthentic and transmuted into what can best be categorized as "aggressive" emotions (because those are "strong" and therefore "okay"). I shut myself off from a lot of things because of this, but mainly I lost any sense of connection to people in my efforts to objectify them for my own emotional safety.
I have had a sense of what can only be called "enlightenment" since I started this exercise in being fully present with people and experiences emotionally. I hesitate to use that word because it sounds lofty and oddly religious. However, not pushing back against my feelings when they come up has been liberating and has changed my dreams and my sense of how I navigate life. It's okay if I want to cry. It's okay if I'm feeling sad. It's okay if I'm incredibly happy because the phone rings and it's my husband who I've spoken to thousands of times yet he still makes me delighted when he calls. And if other people don't like those things, if they can't sit with them, that's their problem.
Showing posts with label emotional control. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emotional control. Show all posts
Monday, January 12, 2015
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Not Crying Over What Is Spilt
When I was 22 years old (and still living with my parents), my mother told me that she was going to the store and asked me what we were out of and subsequently what needed to be purchased. Bearing in mind that I worked two 24-hour shifts outside of my home two days per week and occasionally did another part-time job at which I'd also spend about 16 hours overnight, I told her that I didn't know exactly, but rattled off what I did know. The truth was that I wasn't in a good position to take inventory of our household needs as I wasn't there all of the time.
My mother went off to the local stores to purchase things. When she returned, she went to the bathroom and discovered that we were nearly out of toilet paper. This discovery had her coming to my room in a rage and she started to berate me with great hostility. She attacked me verbally continuously for about five minutes and told me what a horrible and irresponsible person I was. The barrage ended only when she'd reduced me to tears. By way of "apology", she ended her tirade by saying that I "knew" she was like that and that I should be careful not to upset her.
During the entire time I lived at home (I left when I was 23), my mother was emotionally volatile and verbally abusive. As a child, I remember times when I was so terrified of making a mistake that would incite her wrath that I'd suffer anxiety at the thought of the situation playing out. She took no responsibility for her own emotions. She never once apologized for anything she did wrong and she never thanked me for anything I did for her.
I haven't had a face-to-face relationship with my mother since leaving home as I moved too far away for that, so I have been spared any further experiences. The truth is that she is not a bad person, but she is both playing out a generational dynamic and is incapable of managing her stress. My maternal grandmother berated her and was vitriolic when upset. She grew up to do the same. It didn't help that my mother's life was incredibly miserable since we were extremely poor and my father is a disabled alcoholic. She had a lot to be unhappy about and she had little in the way of resilience or role-modeling to manage the situation.
During the first year of my marriage, I would occasionally exhibit the same sorts of behaviors that my mother demonstrated toward me. There was a situation in which I said to my husband that I felt that he'd "intentionally upset me." What he said in response chilled me to the bone. He said, "Why would I upset you knowing it would bring on that sort of response?" I realized that I was holding him responsible for my emotions just as my mother had held me responsible. At that moment, I decided that I would do anything I could to stop the cycle.
That sort of change does not come easily and it does not come fast. It took me years of effort to both dial back my emotions and to strengthen my control. Lately, I've found that the fruits of my labor are fairly intact, though sometimes they are challenged to a greater extent by circumstances. Last night, I had an experience which illustrated this well.
In the past two to three weeks, there have been three occasions in which a relatively large quantity of liquid has accidentally been spilled. The first time, my husband knocked over a cup of fruit punch on his side of the bed that he was keeping there to drink through the night. As someone who has knocked over the glass of water she keeps by the bed at least three times in the past six months, I was very patient with this despite it happening in the middle of the night and the contents emptying into a nearly full bag of hard candy on the same stand. I salvaged the sticky goo, because that's what poor people do - we don't throw things away which can be of marginal use. It's a mess that keeps on giving as it has spawned 30 little messes as I've gotten sticky fingers with each candy's unwrapping. You'd think I'd just give up on the dollar spent on them, but, no.
The next spill was actually my fault with some help from my husband. I made French toast for breakfast and was bringing the dish to the table. My husband had put his coffee cup near the middle of the place mat so he could drink it more comfortably (moving it from the upper corner where I'd placed it ). When I went to move the cup, with my focus on too many things, I knocked over the nearly full cup of coffee. Like the cup of fruit punch, it spilled all over the place including the wall and table.
I was agitated about this spill, but was attempting to keep it together when my husband asked if it was his fault. I angrily said that he had this habit of moving things into the space I needed to serve food and that I did believe it was his fault. It is true that he cluelessly puts things down in the wrong place while I'm trying to carry things over as part of a sequence of managing a meal and it has been annoying. Later, I told him that I didn't think it was his fault and was unhappy with myself for both being angry and for blaming him. I felt this was a temperamental failure on my part. It was likely facilitated both by his question and this habit he has (which I really have not worked with him on) as well as the time of day. I was a bit foggy that morning and just wanted to get the food on the table and relax while I ate, so my impatience also played a role.
Last night, I served tomato soup with dinner. My husband knocked over the full bowl and it spilled everywhere again. The first spill didn't upset me. The second one irritated me, perhaps because it was my fault. The third one was even harder to contain as I'd only slept four or so hours the night before and was pretty tired. However, despite the frustration and accompanying anger welling up in me, I held it together this time. My husband, after the previous experience, wisely did not ask me any questions while I cleaned things up.
My husband was quite upset about what happened. He said that he felt bad because, not only was a mess made, but it was homemade soup that I put effort into creating. He also remarked that that seemed to be happening more often. It has, but I believe it's because he has been working harder than usual and is worn out. I think that situational awareness is diminished when someone is mentally tapped out and he's been engaged with work and extra training a lot more lately. His brain is drained and he's not seeing things around him. Even if he's suddenly grown more clumsy, that's just the way it is. It's not like he's doing any of these things on purpose.
One of the things that I had to learn and that my mother never learned is that sometimes frustrating or bad things happen and it isn't anybody's fault. Berating someone for carelessness when they spill something or raging at them for the mistake doesn't change the fact that accidents happen and you just have to live with it. In the moment, when the part of your brain that kicks up a little inner tantrum goes off, it may be a relief to yell and blow off steam, but the price for that is that the other party will become anxious at the least and get angry back at you at most. It's a destructive dynamic which ultimately can poison the well of your relationship.
Having grown up a victim of someone who blamed others constantly for anything that upset her, I'm gratified to have had the experience I had last night in which I was upset, but I didn't act on my feelings and was able to calm down and attend to how my husband felt and help him instead of venting destructively. This is a sign of my triumph over the generational dysfunction passed on from my grandmother to my mother.
My mother went off to the local stores to purchase things. When she returned, she went to the bathroom and discovered that we were nearly out of toilet paper. This discovery had her coming to my room in a rage and she started to berate me with great hostility. She attacked me verbally continuously for about five minutes and told me what a horrible and irresponsible person I was. The barrage ended only when she'd reduced me to tears. By way of "apology", she ended her tirade by saying that I "knew" she was like that and that I should be careful not to upset her.
During the entire time I lived at home (I left when I was 23), my mother was emotionally volatile and verbally abusive. As a child, I remember times when I was so terrified of making a mistake that would incite her wrath that I'd suffer anxiety at the thought of the situation playing out. She took no responsibility for her own emotions. She never once apologized for anything she did wrong and she never thanked me for anything I did for her.
I haven't had a face-to-face relationship with my mother since leaving home as I moved too far away for that, so I have been spared any further experiences. The truth is that she is not a bad person, but she is both playing out a generational dynamic and is incapable of managing her stress. My maternal grandmother berated her and was vitriolic when upset. She grew up to do the same. It didn't help that my mother's life was incredibly miserable since we were extremely poor and my father is a disabled alcoholic. She had a lot to be unhappy about and she had little in the way of resilience or role-modeling to manage the situation.
During the first year of my marriage, I would occasionally exhibit the same sorts of behaviors that my mother demonstrated toward me. There was a situation in which I said to my husband that I felt that he'd "intentionally upset me." What he said in response chilled me to the bone. He said, "Why would I upset you knowing it would bring on that sort of response?" I realized that I was holding him responsible for my emotions just as my mother had held me responsible. At that moment, I decided that I would do anything I could to stop the cycle.
That sort of change does not come easily and it does not come fast. It took me years of effort to both dial back my emotions and to strengthen my control. Lately, I've found that the fruits of my labor are fairly intact, though sometimes they are challenged to a greater extent by circumstances. Last night, I had an experience which illustrated this well.
In the past two to three weeks, there have been three occasions in which a relatively large quantity of liquid has accidentally been spilled. The first time, my husband knocked over a cup of fruit punch on his side of the bed that he was keeping there to drink through the night. As someone who has knocked over the glass of water she keeps by the bed at least three times in the past six months, I was very patient with this despite it happening in the middle of the night and the contents emptying into a nearly full bag of hard candy on the same stand. I salvaged the sticky goo, because that's what poor people do - we don't throw things away which can be of marginal use. It's a mess that keeps on giving as it has spawned 30 little messes as I've gotten sticky fingers with each candy's unwrapping. You'd think I'd just give up on the dollar spent on them, but, no.
The next spill was actually my fault with some help from my husband. I made French toast for breakfast and was bringing the dish to the table. My husband had put his coffee cup near the middle of the place mat so he could drink it more comfortably (moving it from the upper corner where I'd placed it ). When I went to move the cup, with my focus on too many things, I knocked over the nearly full cup of coffee. Like the cup of fruit punch, it spilled all over the place including the wall and table.
I was agitated about this spill, but was attempting to keep it together when my husband asked if it was his fault. I angrily said that he had this habit of moving things into the space I needed to serve food and that I did believe it was his fault. It is true that he cluelessly puts things down in the wrong place while I'm trying to carry things over as part of a sequence of managing a meal and it has been annoying. Later, I told him that I didn't think it was his fault and was unhappy with myself for both being angry and for blaming him. I felt this was a temperamental failure on my part. It was likely facilitated both by his question and this habit he has (which I really have not worked with him on) as well as the time of day. I was a bit foggy that morning and just wanted to get the food on the table and relax while I ate, so my impatience also played a role.
Last night, I served tomato soup with dinner. My husband knocked over the full bowl and it spilled everywhere again. The first spill didn't upset me. The second one irritated me, perhaps because it was my fault. The third one was even harder to contain as I'd only slept four or so hours the night before and was pretty tired. However, despite the frustration and accompanying anger welling up in me, I held it together this time. My husband, after the previous experience, wisely did not ask me any questions while I cleaned things up.
My husband was quite upset about what happened. He said that he felt bad because, not only was a mess made, but it was homemade soup that I put effort into creating. He also remarked that that seemed to be happening more often. It has, but I believe it's because he has been working harder than usual and is worn out. I think that situational awareness is diminished when someone is mentally tapped out and he's been engaged with work and extra training a lot more lately. His brain is drained and he's not seeing things around him. Even if he's suddenly grown more clumsy, that's just the way it is. It's not like he's doing any of these things on purpose.
One of the things that I had to learn and that my mother never learned is that sometimes frustrating or bad things happen and it isn't anybody's fault. Berating someone for carelessness when they spill something or raging at them for the mistake doesn't change the fact that accidents happen and you just have to live with it. In the moment, when the part of your brain that kicks up a little inner tantrum goes off, it may be a relief to yell and blow off steam, but the price for that is that the other party will become anxious at the least and get angry back at you at most. It's a destructive dynamic which ultimately can poison the well of your relationship.
Having grown up a victim of someone who blamed others constantly for anything that upset her, I'm gratified to have had the experience I had last night in which I was upset, but I didn't act on my feelings and was able to calm down and attend to how my husband felt and help him instead of venting destructively. This is a sign of my triumph over the generational dysfunction passed on from my grandmother to my mother.
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