It was my last night of a two-week bike tour in Norway. In short, the trip was brutal (don’t get me wrong, it was great too). I ended up having to do far more rerouting than planned. I rode through some miserable weather. I had tent setup issues on various ground surfaces, which meant there were some days where I had to resort to my third or fourth option campsite much further along my route. The details of those stories are better fit for another time, but this last night was quite frustrating on the tent front. I was at my limit both physically and mentally. Exhausted, I finally got my tent pitched, my pad inflated, and my sleeping bag laid out. I laid down to reset for a brief moment before I ate dinner. My head hit the pillow, and my body was instantly flooded with emotion, taking a beeline from my stomach up to my throat and soon after my eyes. “I guess we’re doing this right now” I chuckled to myself as tears started streaming down my face.
Two years ago, even one year ago, my response would have been very different. My throat would have started feeling pressure come up, wanting to be released. My eyes would begin to water, and I’d push everything right back down to my stomach. Likely I would have tried to reason through if there was anything prompting the nudge towards tears, and I wouldn’t come up with an answer. Even if I did, it wouldn’t feel it wouldn’t warrant such a strong emotional response. Regardless of whether or not I thought I understood the emotions, my goal was always to translate the emotional into the logical. If I couldn’t reason through it, then I probably didn’t need to feel it. If I could, then I definitely didn’t need to feel it. I understood the root, and that’s all I thought I needed. Turns out this approach didn’t serve me very well, both individually and relationally. With a partner, my tendency toward rationalization and analyzation of emotions lead towards dismissal and disconnection rather than compassion and connection.
It’s taken a lot of practice of intentional stepping into the uncomfortable territory of emotions, and now, I have a very different response. When this hit me in Norway, I wasn’t afraid of it. Strangely enough, I was excited for it. It was evident my body was trying to tell me something, and I was ready to let it speak its piece. During my five to ten minutes of mixed tears and laughter, I slowly began to realize what was happening. For each of the last twelve days I’d gotten up and asked my body and mind to perform at a very high capacity. There wasn’t really any other option in my brain besides continuing, even amidst all of the challenges and frustrations. Each day I would repeat, and override signals of being strained and wanting rest. The last night, I was past my limits and also so close to the finish line. My body knew before my brain did that it could finally rest after tomorrow. No more nights of tent frustrations. No more poor weather concerns. No more ignoring pain for miles on end. All that my body had been suppressing for two weeks, it was presenting to me in the form of tears.
Norway is one example of several that I could share of how my relationship with emotions, feelings, and specifically tears has changed over the last few years. By no means am I at the end of the road, but I’ve come a long way. Today I want to share a bit of what I’ve learned.
I’ve learned I can’t ignore my emotions. When I try, they have a way of festering into something far less productive down the road. So I’ve started trying to engage with them as soon as I can. When I do, I no longer start by trying to rationalize they why behind the feeling. As soon as I notice it, I simply bookmark it. Maybe it feels like now is an appropriate time for my body to process through whatever it’s experiencing, or maybe it doesn’t. If it’s the former, I put whatever is in front of me to the side, sit down, and start playing with the sensations to see if they want to move anywhere. If it’s the latter, I try to set aside a time when I can circle back to do the same.
After I sit down, I always start the same way. The first question I’ve learned to ask is not “what am I feeling?”, but “where am I feeling?”. This single reframing has dramatically shifted the way I engage with my emotions, as it positions me in an observational, curious perspective rather than an analytical one.
How I Got Here
I heard this question for the first time from my therapist after maybe five sessions. I barely knew the guy, and I thought it was a pretty weird question to ask. Why do I care where my body is experiencing a sensation? I just want to know what’s going on. But I gave it a shot. It came at a time when there was a significant loss in my life, and I wasn’t having much luck on my own processing it. I knew I needed to cry, but I felt like I couldn’t get there.
Skeptical as I was, I figured maybe he knew what he was talking about. He asked me to place my hand on where my body was experiencing a feeling. I closed my eyes and put my hand on my chest. My hand continued to trace the movement of the physical sensation I was feeling in my body, and it slowly moved up towards my throat. 30 seconds later, I was sobbing on a video call with a guy I’d pretty much just met. Amidst my much needed tears, I was laughing to myself at how immediately effective this question was. I guess he wasn’t crazy after all.
Laughter has continued to frequently accompany my tears. Sometimes it even precedes it. When that happens, it’s a pretty solid indicator that there is something hiding behind my laughter and I need to keep creating space for those emotions to play out.
Now, I don’t want to set false expectations. This isn’t some kind of magic trick that looks the same every time. I’ve done this many times since on my own. Sometimes I end up in tears, and plenty of other times not a whole lot really comes. The goal isn’t to elicit a specific response, it’s to provide space to become more aware of what’s happening in my own body. If it’s drawing attention to something, I try to listen to it.
As is the title, I’ve learned to find deep joy in tears. My favorite tears are the ones I don’t understand. It means my body is releasing something that I might not be aware of at a cognitive level where I live most of the time. It’s self-regulatory. It opens up the vent of the volcano and prevents the pressure for continuing to build and expose itself in less fruitful ways later.
The Roller Coaster
There are numerous analogies I could play with, so I’ll just pick one. In many ways, emotions and tears feel like a rollercoaster. A rollercoaster isn’t meant to be driven, but to be ridden. It’s not a map. There aren’t any directions of when to turn left, when to go upside down, and when to drop. The rider simply experiences each twist and turn as it comes. Even if you’ve been on the same coaster a million times, there’s still a sensation of unexpectedness that comes with it. I feel healthier when I let my emotions play out in this way rather than trying to harness & control them.
My primary concern is no longer about understanding the route of the roller coaster. It’s about coming to peace with the ride. I’m going to feel whatever I feel, there’s really no getting around that. And if I’m feeling something, I trust my body knows something whether or not my mind is consciously aware of what that is. And funnily enough, even as my focal point has shifted away from understanding, I’ve found that clarity has often come as a byproduct.
Application
At this point, you’re probably in one of two camps. You’re intrigued. Or you think I’m a nutcase. Fair play either way. I used to be in the second camp as well. It all felt very hand wavey and I brushed it off as something that was only for “emotional” people. It wasn’t until I started learning through experience that my position began to shift. So, I want to talk about a few techniques if this whole world is new to you and you want to dip your toes in the water. If this is something you’re already a pro at, great. Keep doing what works for you and give those of us grace to whom it doesn’t come naturally.
Music
Music is personal and music is emotional. Sometimes when feelings aren’t coming as readily as I want them to, I’ll put on a song that I know provokes me on an emotional level. Likely, you have songs that come to mind. If you don’t, my two go to songs that are frequently effective are Grief is Only Love by Stephen Wilson Jr, and Ocean by John Butler (fair warning – this is a 12-minute instrumental song). Give them (or others) a shot and see how it goes.
Verbal Guidance
Initially, I don’t think I could have done this without a bit of direction from my therapist. If that’s a space you have, it’s a great playground for this. (If it’s not, I have many thoughts on why it should be. They aren’t in writing yet, but once they are I’ll link them here). If there’s someone else you trust to partner with you in this, you can try it with them too. And although I haven’t used them myself, I’m sure there are many great online guided meditation resources that might be more comfortable to start than doing it with someone else.
Don’t Focus on an Outcome
As I mentioned earlier, the purpose of this type of exercise isn’t about manifesting something. It’s about providing more frequent opportunities for your feelings to speak. The more space you create, the higher likelihood there is that your emotions will spill out at some point or another. That means you also don’t need to have any sort of cue, like a tangible event you feel like you need to process. You can start by simply sitting down for 5 to 10 minutes (undistracted) and identifying what sensations you are feeling in your body and where. Touch those places with your hand and play with them. See if they want to move anywhere and follow them. I know, it’s weird at first. It’s okay.
Emotions Are Not…
With all this talk about listening to your emotions, I want to clarify that emotions are not truths. There’s another extreme to not having any awareness of one’s emotions, and that’s allowing emotions to dictate decisions in an impulsive manner. Emotions are signals. Indicators of what’s happening internally. There are any number of reasons that people feel an emotion at any given time related to family of origin, current stress levels, circumstances or simply just being tired. They should absolutely be acknowledged when making decisions, but always in context. Balance them with thoughts that live outside of your current emotional state as well as experience. Breaking down your tendencies towards common reactions is a whole separate topic for a different time, but the more you learn about this, the more likely you will lean away from letting your emotions control you.
Now, go forth and move yourself to tears. Bet you’ve never heard that one before. Embrace the discomfort and beauty of your own emotions. Your body has a voice just like your brain does. Be curious about it, observe your emotions, and don’t feel a pressure to always need to understand them. You might find more freedom than you expect where understanding is absent. If you decide to go and play with any of this, I would love to hear how it goes and what you learn from it. Writing all this has reminded me how significant of an impact this journey has had on me, and I hope that you get to experience a similar transformation.
If you know anybody that you think would enjoy this, please consider sharing.
Thanks for being here.