Learning to feel

A false identity

Have you ever sat down to write, to draw, to play an instrument, or to work on a beloved project only to feel dread creeping in, your breath shortening, and stones settling in your gut? Have you ever felt an intense pressure take over your body, suddenly rendering you paralyzed and barely able to inhale because of how sick you feel? I have. And these days, I’m slowly working through it.

If you have, you need to know that these negative feelings are a stress response, your body warning you, trying to save you from danger. How are you in danger, sitting at your desk in the comfort of your home (or another familiar environment), you may ask?

I’ve learned that these feelings stem from the importance I attach to a task. I have always been a perfectionist, and I strive to do the very best at what I love. I take pride in making good work, in making things that will impress other people, but most importantly, will impress me, and I am my own biggest critic. If you’re reading this article, I’m sure you can relate in some capacity. Most humans can, at some point in their lives. I see myself as studious, hardworking, and an excellent student and employee. A child who always had amazing grades but was always asked by her parents why she didn’t get full marks. This is too many people’s life experiences.

Since I must excel, most of my adult life has been spent pushing through discomfort, setting strict deadlines, and forcing strict routines and tasks onto myself. However, these were never viable options, and this way of living led to sickness and burnout. Ultimately, my brain and my body reject the tasks and the perceived danger, and I avoid my work for days or months.

Obviously, if you’re trying to make a career out of a project, or even if you’re just trying to improve in your hobby, this is highly counter-productive.

Putting down my shovel (and stopping burying my emotions)

My last article was about writing paralysis. How I wasn’t able to put words on paper. This week, I want to talk about how I’m moving past this, finding fun again in my creative projects.

A few weeks ago, I had a therapy session during which my psychologist taught me all about the ego and how it prevents us from being our true selves and creating a life of joy and ease. Maybe I’ll write a more in-depth analysis of it when I’ve studied the subject further. But basically, the ego, as it tries to protect us, in my case, from failure and loss of identity, leads us to try to control our circumstances. To analyze, to plan, and study with the objective of taking the reins on our situations. We bury our emotions and try to rationalize our problems to feel better. In themselves, most of these actions are pretty healthy and necessary. But the problem resides in the “burying our emotions” part.

That’s the main problem. A danger that isn’t acknowledged festers.

It rots, the sickness slowly spreading, till everything necrotizes.

Growing up, I thought that showing emotions, showing vulnerability – even to myself – was a weakness.

I couldn’t be more wrong.

True bravery and strength actually lie in the capacity to accept and work with our flaws and shortcomings.

To quote Brené Brown:

“There is no courage without vulnerability. (…) Perfectionism is not about striving for excellence; it is a defensive, 20-ton shield used to avoid shame, judgment, and vulnerability.”

Being courageous means accepting our emotions and really sitting with them, even when they’re uncomfortable. Instead of squabbling to find solutions as soon as a negative feeling arises, or to just try to ignore it till it goes away, we need to sit still and feel. And yes, it sucks. It’s painful and awkward, but it’s so vital.

So, over the past few days, I set myself a tiny goal to accept my negative emotions. Without judgment, without trying to find a solution, just to tell my body and my mind: I hear you.

How to actually feel your emotions?

When you’re an emotion novice like me, it’s better to proceed in steps:

1. First, I acknowledge the physical signs. They can appear in various ways and intensities depending on the individual. You may encounter signs that I don’t, and vice versa. For me, it is often: a tight throat, difficulty talking, a heavy chest, stomach pains, feeling lethargic or numb, insomnia, nightmares and eczema.
2.  Then, I analyze the emotion, turn it in every direction like a strange object, and try to find its causes. Am I afraid of something in particular? Impatient? Am I comparing myself to someone else? Does it work? A family matter? Not enough movement, sleep or nutrients? Am I in my luteal phase? Sometimes it is a combination of factors, sometimes, nothing in particular. When I can’t find a logical reason, I try journaling. If that doesn’t work, I sleep on it. The reason never comes, but at least I asked myself the right questions.
3. The last step may be weird to some people, but it works for me. I take a deep breath and tell myself: It’s okay, I understand now. You can rest now, we’re safe. Who am I talking to? I have no idea. My ego, my brain or my body… It doesn’t matter, ease slowly seeps into my veins, and my symptoms improve.

How is it working for me?

Well, it’s been a few weeks since I started doing this, and it’s working wonders. I feel more at ease and grounded, and my stress symptoms have lessened a lot. It’s still not perfect, but I know recovery is a bumpy ride, with highs and a lot of lows. I don’t know why, but doing this has unlocked something in me. I want to share my feelings with the world. Sometimes, so much that there’s a tension in my throat urging me to spill my thoughts to my loved ones, and it feels so good (thankfully, I have a lovely partner who loves to talk about mental health and is all ears).

Are you also someone who grew up repressing their feelings? And if you are, how are you doing, and how are you managing your stress responses?

I hope my experience was helpful in any way and wish you all the best.