Emotion Tunnels

I first learned the phrase “emotion tunnels” from the book Burnout by Emily Nagoski and Amelia Nagoski. In the book, they explain that our emotions are tunnels and we must move all the way through them. When we get stuck in the middle of a feeling, because we are scared or anxious or try to numb it or distract ourselves from it, the emotion fails to complete and we get stuck, which leads to emotional exhaustion.

This simple and brilliant definition made so much sense to me. But over time, we forget helpful things like this (or at least I do). Thankfully, my Burnout presentation (loosely based on the Nagoski sisters’ amazing work) got booked for an Alberta teachers’ conference this month, and when I reviewed my slides I realised that I hadn’t been completing some emotion tunnels.

One morning a few weeks ago, I was partway through eating my bowl of Shreddies, when I felt an overwhelming tidal wave of grief. I counteracted this experience with my usual defences: focusing harder on the novel I was reading to ward off any sad feelings, logically approaching the situation by saying to myself, “There’s no reason why I should feel teary right now,” and attempting to ignore it.

An image rose up in my mind of a tunnel, the photo I use in my presentation, and I placed my cereal spoon into my bowl, laid my head down on my kitchen table and WEPT. It was like a storm went through me. I shook, I cried, I grieved, I scared both of my cats.

When it was over, I raised my head and took a few long, shuddering breaths. Immediately, I felt different. Lighter. Less tense and stressed. I still didn’t know why I was suddenly overcome by sadness. But it didn’t matter. This was beyond knowing. What happened to me that morning at the table was simply feeling, and getting out of my own way to allow that particular emotion tunnel to complete the work it was trying to do.

Way later, I realised why I was grieving. But the key was to allow the emotion to have its way, in a safe space, alone in my kitchen. We live in such a cold, cerebral world, where we try to figure out our feelings and experiences rather than actually feel them. Sometimes this helps us to survive, when we are in pain, but mostly it gives us a spinning wheel inside of our soul, that’s desperate to complete.

I just listened to Rob Bell’s excellent and inspiring podcast called This Must be the Void. He echoed so many of the same things I’ve been going through, and it was lovely to imagine that this feeling instead of thinking process is actually in the air – that something cool and interesting is happening on a more collective level. He quoted a phrase from a song (I’m sorry that I can’t remember the musician!) that said, “I’m wired for the new world.” I feel like this phrase is doing something in my very bones and marrow. It resonates and rings utterly true.

In the last few weeks, I’m allowing myself a lot more freedom to complete my emotion tunnels instead of blocking them or attempting to understand them. The understanding comes later. First, there’s a lot to feel, and that feeling happens in the body, not in the mind. What a ride it’s been. I feel utterly changed by this process.

What emotion tunnels do you have to complete? Are there any feelings that have come up for you that you’ve been trying to avoid? Let’s discuss!

Changes

I’ve always loved the beginning of September. Cooler weather, trees beginning to prepare for the upcoming dormancy of winter, back-to-school excitement in the air. It’s a time of fresh possibility and change.

I’m usually invigorated by it. But this year, I find myself mourning in a way I hadn’t anticipated. We took Ava to university on the long weekend, settling her into her new dorm experience at the University of Victoria. She deferred her acceptance last year when a housing shortage meant she couldn’t live on campus for her first year, so we had bonus time with her.

I knew I would miss her, but like everything in life, we don’t really know what we haven’t experienced yet. I worked with a counsellor, starting when Ava was in grade twelve, and she helped me with some excellent preparatory strategies for a child moving out, but the sadness still hit me with a ton of bricks on Sunday night when we hugged goodbye.

I cried. She cried. Her roommate began crying. Her roommate’s mom cried. Every woman in that tiny dorm room was crying. I knew she was going to be fine. I believed wholeheartedly that Ava was right where she was meant to be, and that once the initial rocky goodbye was behind us, she would find her footing and begin to thrive at university.

All of this has happened, and yet I still feel utterly bereft. I reached out to a few of my friends who have walked this road ahead of me, and it helps to know they all felt the same. Thrilled for their children, and proud as punch, but also undeniably grieving the loss of that child in their home in an everyday way.

The surprise for me has come in the way our family functions. Taking one person out of a four person equation means everyone has to adjust and change. I’ve realized now how much I enjoyed chatting with Ava, about everything and nothing all at once. How much we laughed at similar things. I never really noticed how our two-way relationship functioned until it disappeared. And now I really miss it.

Once her classes started on Wednesday, she’s called to tell me all about her new profs, and the friends she’s making, and what’s good and what’s not in the cafeteria. She sounds bright and happy, which is a wonderful thing. I know that we’ll all find our way through this change. It will take time. I also know that when she comes home at Thanksgiving, she’ll be a different person than the one we said goodbye to in early September.

This is the natural order of things. As parents, we take a dependent baby and turn them slowly into an independent adult. It’s an honour to see them coming into their own unique identity, and finding their way as young adults. But it’s also okay to admit that this change is hard on the parents. It leaves you adrift for a little while. I’m trying to be gentle with myself. She hasn’t even been gone a full week yet. It helps to know how other moms navigated these choppy waters.

My counsellor is amazing at reminding me to think about my coping strategies in other turbulent times. However I made it through before, is how I’ll make it through again. This really helps me. It’s healthy to love someone so much that their absence leaves a gaping hole. Like all pain, the only way out is ever through. One foot in front of the other. One day where you cry less than the day before. We are messy humans, having a messy human experience, and navigating key life changes will always be challenging.

But the good news is that we’ve made it through before, which means we have the skills required to make it through again.

Broken, Cracked Souls

Broken, Cracked Souls

Once upon a time there was a girl who wanted to be loved. She longed to fill every broken and cracked room in her soul with affection, warmth and care.

She felt empty. Damaged. Alone in a large and intimidating world. When this girl looked to the adults who were supposed to be in charge, she didn’t feel safe. They were drinking, fighting, manipulating, lying, hiding and punishing with bitter silences.

The girl ached for truth. She wanted to know what was right and wrong by watching it in action, not hearing about it in words, for the actions did not match the fancy, dressed-up lingo.

broken-cracked-soulsOver time, this girl learned to deny her own desires for love, honesty and kindness. She made her reality fit with her yearnings, even when the two things were oceans apart. She compromised, crammed, altered and minimized. In this way she could survive her own sensitivities to pain, darkness, fear and secrets.

Then the girl grew into an adult. By now her denial was as natural as the breaths she took, without once pausing to consider the function that her breath and denial played. She went to school, she worked, she fell in love, she got married, she had kids, she joined the PTA. The girl was now a woman, sleepwalking through her days and nights, frozen in her buried feelings, lying the same way her parents taught her to.

When the girl was 37 years old she finally woke up. The agony of feeling those emotions was excruciating, but at least now she could tell she was alive. She learned that minimizing your feelings leads to rage on a slow boil, so fucking toxic that it will eventually consume you if you don’t face it head on and call it by its proper name.

The girl found people who taught her how to love and how to be loved. It was foreign and exhilarating and awful. It was vulnerable, the only place she ever experienced actual freedom and truth. It took every ounce of bravery and trust she could summon. Every single day she had to find the strength to do it all again, but it was better than the frigid numbness of the first half of her sleeping life.

Now the girl could show her children a new path: one that embraced the entire feeling spectrum. This was big and expansive and wide by comparison. She could lean in and love with her whole heart. She could practice relying on others, not the ones who had routinely let her down, but a fresh set of people who proved worthy by their actions instead of their meaningless promises. Now the girl could breathe.

She could create for herself what her family of origin could not give her, either in her childhood or now. The cracks in her soul would heal but never disappear. They were reminders of what she had overcome, hopeful markers for those in desperate need of light and redemption. The girl had a dream to bring these broken and cracked souls together, to one place of nurture and belonging, so they could love one another back to life and know they weren’t alone any longer.

Endurance

Endurance

Most of us endure because we have to, not because we want to. As humans, we are incredibly resilient beings. We can gut it out when we are under duress and make it through to an easier stage, mostly because there is simply no other choice.

I’m working on not complaining as much these days. Life is hard for everyone. My pain is not different from your pain. It all hurts. When it sucks, it really sucks, but the good news is that we are all in it together.

To endure is to weather hardship in a dignified manner. Moaning and bitching about elements out of our direct control is a waste of energy and it reduces our ability to feel strong and capable. When I think about the people I most admire in the world, those who make it through turbulent periods with grace and poise are among my greatest heroes.

enduranceIt’s just damn hard to do it myself. But I’m getting there, inch by inch. I can endure the worst circumstances and so can you. So much of what ails us is in our own minds. If we believe we can survive and eventually thrive, we will. If we sink into self pity and compare our suffering to someone else’s, we are moving further from dignity and can benefit from a course correction.

One of the biggest cliches is “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” But it’s so very true. We don’t grow in the easy seasons. Those are for resting and gearing up for the inevitable freight train that’s on its way to disrupt our orderly existence.

The hard shit reveals who we are, for better or for worse. It proves to us our own strength and highlights our weaknesses, not so we feel ashamed but so we become conscious of them and can begin to work on these troublesome areas.

I am determined to stop focusing on petty garbage that doesn’t add any value to my life. I’m trying to move in the direction of peace and joy by veering away from stress and drama. I proved to myself this summer that I can do unimaginably hard and scary things. And I can do more than just make it through them, but I can in fact endure with a certain element of dignity.

I used to waste so much time seeking approval from others for my choices, my words, my imagined legacy. It feels fantastic to pull that back from society in general and sit on it myself, like a hen keeping her vulnerable baby chicks warm when the air turns cold.

Now is the time to endure with as much grace as we can muster. If the sun is shining and the birds are singing for you, enjoy this day. Soak up the warmth for one day soon it will rain or snow and you will need to summon resources of strength from deep inside of you to make it through.

And if you are enduring something awful or scary now, remember that this too shall pass. You always have a choice. You can complain about how unfair all of it is, or you can endure with a smile nailed on your face. Think ahead to when the crisis is finished. How will you want to remember this time? How did you react when that was the only part of the situation that you could control?

Clarifying Priorities

Clarifying Priorities

It takes hard times for many of us to clarify our priorities. When life is smooth and easy, we become complacent, bored, discontented. We get restless and little things crop up to irritate and annoy us.

But then we face a crisis or a tragedy and everything around us looks different. We are changed, from the inside out, and what mattered to us days or weeks before can suddenly shift and settle into a new form.

This has happened to me with my recent hospital stay and my slow recovery. I see now that I had a desperate need to slow down within myself; to learn how to rest and simply be instead of fretting about achieving. I had to practice allowing myself to be loved and cared for, not because I was proving that I deserved that affection, but just because it sprang from the depths of another’s soul. I had to remove myself from my own performance in order to see that I was loved even laying in a hospital bed with a tube in my throat, unable to talk or impress anyone.

clarifyingprioritiesGetting home and recovering, inch by painful inch, day after day, I understand now what it means to be patient. How healing it is to turn my life setting to low instead of high. How much I notice when I am resting instead of running. The details of life become sharp and crisp, instead of blurry and distant.

I am changed. I can finally see what’s important and what isn’t important. Proving, striving, yearning…all a waste of precious time and energy. Being present, grateful, authentic…these things have staying power. They sustain, enrich, nourish. I have gifts to give to myself and to others. I will not minimize these any longer. They matter. I matter. Those I love and cherish matter.

Pain is truly a marvellous teacher. None of us would throw up our hand to volunteer to struggle, to weep, to be shoehorned into surrender. But yet it gives us a chance to re-evaluate what we are doing with our time, energy and money. It offers us a unique window into our motives, our deepest fears, our unsatisfied yearnings. Our unexamined beliefs about who we are and what we are doing in this world.

Like spring cleaning, our souls need refreshing from time to time. Usually circumstances will create this opportunity for us, whether we like it or not. It could be surgery, or the loss of someone close to us, financial troubles, behavioural concerns or a host of other unforeseen situations. They offer us a mirror, into our truest selves, which we can choose to examine or ignore.

My priorities look radically different now. I’m grateful for this, even though I never would’ve chosen the path that brought me to this place. But we all must play the hand we are dealt. This internal work is for a lifetime, with endless journeys to undertake and truths to understand. I know who I am now, on a deeper level, and there are no shortcuts to arrive at this type of meaningful significance that has the power to shift an entire life to a new level.