Emotional Content

Thursday, Sept 21, 2023

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It is always rewarding to see progress, no matter how small.

I recently picked up my kids for a short visitation. Pickup was 5:30 PM on Friday and drop-off was noon the next day. It’s not a lot of time, but I cherish it.

Something happened just as I was supposed to pick them up. It slammed my mood sideways, took over my thoughts, and threatened to ruin my time with the kids. They could tell I was in a bad mood, and they gave me the space and understanding that they shouldn’t HAVE to know how to give me.

Here’s the good part. I saw what was happening. I did a check in and did my best to change both my thoughts and my behavior. It wasn’t perfect, but I managed to savor the time I had with them. They responded to the change, and I think they recognized that I had swerved away from a potentially gloomy visit.

This is a small victory for me. But my kids know I am going to therapy and working on myself. I hope this example has planted seeds that will help them avoid the same problems in the future. A change in the system affects the whole system.

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In going over Mind Over Mood with my therapist, I shared with him a realization with him. I have told him story after story about life events that have affected me. He has even, on occasion, praised me for telling the stories in a way that doesn’t make me out to be a victim, or place blame on other people.

I mistook this praise as a sign that my storytelling was good. I hoped so, after all, since I am a writer. It turns out I had blind spots that I wasn’t aware of.

Go figure.

In doing the mood check-ins that I described in an earlier post, I kept uncovering moods that I hadn’t realized were part of the situations I’d been through. Sometimes these were subtle, easy to miss. Other times they were pretty massive, to the point where I was stunned that I had missed them at all.

Like humiliation.

I had described a massive event that I had gone through. One that left me shaken and off balance for some time. I had gone over everything in detail with my therapist, making sure that I was telling things as they were, to the best of my ability to do so, and leaving nothing important out. I knew there would be continual fallout from the experience for years to come, but I didn’t think I was leaving out anything so major as humiliation.

It wasn’t until I stopped to ask what my moods were during and after the event that I noticed that it was there. Frustration. Fear. Anger. And humiliation.

What my therapist told me struck me so hard that I stopped taking notes and just stared at my hand for some time. He said that I was very good at recounting the details of events that happened. I was like a journalist, or recounting a blow-by-blow in a movie. Nothing was left out.

Except emotion. 

My understanding of the situations I had been through lacked emotional content. A part of me was morbidly amused by this, because as a writer I know that storytelling without emotional content will bore the reader. Yet somehow, IN THERAPY, I had missed that crucial point.

He went on to say that in order to process emotions, I have to include them in my own story. They will linger, hidden behind things, polluting my thoughts and behavior unless I allow them to have a place in the narrative.

Somewhere along the way, I learned that telling THIS kind of story needed to be emotionless. I don’t know if it was out of a desire to be as correct as possible, without emotions clouding the facts. Or maybe my security reporting background steered my words, trying to make sure that I said only what happened, without putting opinion or feeling on the events - like an amateur journalist.

In therapy - especially emotionally-based or cognitive-behavioral therapy - that doesn’t work.

Well. What we’re good at can often hinder what we are bad at. It’s time for me to tell stories badly for a while, get it wrong, and flex that emotional content muscle until I get it right once more.

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What are my qualifications? None, except for my own experience and a desire to help. Going back to Doctor Who, “I am an idiot … passing through, helping out.” I hope my own struggle with my darkness can help you with yours, or understand the struggle of someone you love.

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Life before death

Strength before weakness

Journey before destination