emotional health

Slowing Down: Connecting Emotionally with Myself

Slowing Down:  Connecting Emotionally with Myself

by: Sam Egertson, PLPCScreen Shot 2018-11-15 at 2.18.34 PM

Slowing down to connect emotionally with myself is something I am learning to prioritize.  I have been told countless times in my life to, “slow down,” yet I find myself constantly speeding up. Now, part of the reason that I have been told to slow down is a result of my speech, which tends to have a speed limit of its own. However, slowing down takes more effort than I would like to admit. In order to truly slow down, I have to pay attention to myself, and that is not something I enjoy doing.

To pay attention to myself, means to face the uncomfortable emotions that I have felt stirring inside me.

Living in a culture where speed is highly valuable, specifically in getting tasks completed, we tend to put our emotions on the back burner. For example, the other day I left the office and while on my commute home, I found myself getting extremely upset at other drivers on the road. In the moment, I was upset with their incompetent driving skills/lack of awareness, so I reacted in anger.

After a few outbursts of yelling in my car, I thought to myself, “why am I reacting this way?” The reason was not so much about the drivers that surrounded me, but the uncomfortable emotion stirring within – hurt/sorrow. I left the office with hurt feelings, but I did not share it with anyone nor did I give myself the time to process. On the contrary, I took it out on people that I did not know simply by reacting and not slowing down. Once I gave myself the space to slow down, I found myself with more peace, as I was able to face that emotion and give it some room to breathe.

We are worthy of giving ourselves time and space to feel whole, and not another task to be completed. We are not just another cog in the machine. No, we are humans that deserve dignity and love, so let’s practice it for ourselves.

Taking a step further, the more we practice slowing down, the more equipped we become in creating healthy relationships with others.

Good Tears?

Good Tears? Is there such a thing?

 

I went for probably 20 years without shedding a single tear. It’s not that I never had reason to do so. I had plenty of sad or powerful things happen in my world in those times, and I even felt as though there were moments when I could have cried, but the tears would not come.
That has changed. My tears have been unleashed. It’s starting to worry me.
There have been many things recently that have moved me deeply, and my tears have fallen. It was as I drove through the smoky mountains with my family recently and found myself once again moved to tears that I realized several things all at once.

  1. I have driven here before, many years ago, and I was not moved to tears.
  2. I was in as much wonder and awe then as I am now.
  3. I’m crying a lot lately. It’s starting to feel like I’m crying “too much”.
  4. I’m not crying because I‘m sad.
  5. Crying in awe and wonder at this massive and overwhelming beauty is perfectly appropriate.
  6. Crying in awe and wonder at this massive and overwhelming beauty is richer than not crying.

Somewhere in the back of my head and deep in the recesses of my heart there is still a voice that says tears are risky and vulnerable, that crying means I’m a “wuss” or a “pansy” (these are old words, and I know they are not appropriate in common usage, but they are the words that are there).

There is a lot in culture that reinforces this. My tween-aged son talked about “man-screaming” on a roller coaster recently. He demonstrated gripping the safety bar and clenching his face and teeth without making a sound. He was proud of the fact that he resisted the urge to scream, but it kept him from “cutting loose”. Crying is often seen as weakness. Even the picture above shows a very stoic kind of tears. Sometimes mine look like this.

Crying a lot feels defective.

But these are good tears. These are tears of delight and wonder, of the overwhelming perception of beauty, of physically seeing and experiencing a fabulous reality that boggles the mind, of realizing that what I am in the midst of feels like a fantasy painting but it actually exists and I am here in it.

 

I spent 20 years not crying because I had refused to become vulnerable. I had been trained by many people that to become vulnerable in this way would mean physical and emotional punishment. I had buried other pains and refused to weep over them. I would not be touched or moved beyond my own control.

 

My inability to weep over pain robbed me of the experience of weeping in joy and wonder. We as humans are wired for emotional experience, and we are wired to weep. We cannot turn off one kind of tears without turning them all off. I could not weep at beauty because I could not weep at my pain.

I have been tackling my pain with the help of friends, colleagues, and of course with the help of my own therapist. The releasing of those tears of pain has released many other tears. Good tears. Tears that I relish and love for their potency and magnitude.

These tears of wonder and beauty often surprise me. They catch me up and sweep me away. I could stop them up, but I have learned not to. Let them come. They are good and beautiful… and vulnerable, uncontrolled. In the back of my head, sometimes I think, “Really?! I’m going to cry about this?”

Yes, I suppose I am. And I am thankful.

By Jonathan E. Hart, LPC