Another post about emotions

For the last several days I woke up feeling bloated with futility. I had to force my body out of bed, telling myself this was not depression rearing it’s ugly head. It was something else entirely.

My attention had been wrapped up in “what ifs?”, trying to to decipher the possible outcomes of too many variables. I leaned into my coping mechanisms — long walks in nature, finding awe in the cosmic, being present with my senses — but I kept flailing.

I was heading towards collapse. But it wasn’t like a depression that left me complete unattached. There was still a hum in my heart, a desire for something.

Grief comes in many forms. I tried to embrace this murky version of it. It was something different than loss of a loved one. It was the grief of uncertainty.

Let’s parse this through.

Uncertainty is a fact of life. We never know every possible outcome, but we learn to recognize patterns and associate certain inputs with certain outputs, and we use stories to help us make sense of randomness and so on and so forth. We find our way through the unknown, usually leaning on our past experiences for insight or the values that we’ve cultivated. It does the job.

But for me, every pattern that I’ve leaned on, every story I relied upon, every value that seemed to be guaranteed was now irrelevant. I lost my compass for getting through the uncertainty. Collapse was looking much more appealing than trying to stay strong. Why not become completely undone? Wouldn’t that be simpler?

So I let myself collapse. I released the sewage that was clogging my brain — the platitudes that were no longer working, the expectations that I had to be strong and determined. I was overcome with anger, the hot sticky kind that makes your joints ache and your jaw turn to stone. I felt myself seeking the old patterns of comfort, but I knew I couldn’t avoid this any longer. This was my reality, let me feel it.

After several hours of ugly tears and cruel sounds, I went to sleep. I dreamed I was in a hospital, trying to get anyone’s attention. I felt disposable. Something that has been bothering me at the center of all my turmoil. I believed, deeply, that I was worthless.

When I woke, I wasn’t stuck in the mire of my emotional collapse. I had some clarity. Perhaps it was the dream or a good night’s sleep. Either way, I felt the hum in my heart grow louder. This old belief that I was worthless was just that: old.

The bloated futility, the murky grief and the sticky anger were still in the periphery, but I let them loose. I expunged them from my body and I found myself putting new stories into place, recognizing new patterns, and trying on new values. This collapse was not a disaster. It wasn’t even life-ending. It was what I needed.

Now I know every post is supposed to have some key take away or lesson learned or whatever, but I can’t muster the strength to do that again. I’m spent. I know many people read posts to find something to think about, to captivate their attention, and perhaps take them on a little emotion journey far away from their current reality. No promises here. I’m writing this just to process the last several days. But maybe I could invite you to try to let go for a moment. Do it on your terms. Let yourself collapse. Perhaps it’s a surrender. Perhaps it’s a visceral release. Perhaps you just scream into your pillow.

You do you. That’s all we can ask for.