Thoughts & Feelings
Welcome back! I hope you had a wonderful implementation week!
Welcome to day 1 of the second spiral of the theme of Feelings.
Over the next two weeks, we will dive into some of the common messages we have been told and that we tell ourselves about why we can't acknowledge our feelings. Today's lesson is all about this common belief: our thoughts control our feelings.
This message- that our thoughts control our feelings - has been hard-wired in my brain and one of my Monger's favorite ways to shame me from feeling my feelings.
Acknowledging my feelings is the most important way to build a relationship with myself—when I am loyal to my feelings, I can be more loyal to myself. However, knowing the importance of acknowledging and actually doing it are two very different things. From family messages that any feeling other than happy was bad to cultural messages that we don't have time to feel sad to my Monger telling me to suck it up buttercup and quit whining—acknowledging my feelings is rarely my first response. For a long time, Feelings was the ultimate F word in my mind.
Feelings are messy and uncontrollable, and if there are two things that those of us with HFA hate, it is messy and uncontrollable. It is easier to convince ourselves that we can control our feelings. As I said on Day 1 of feelings in Spiral 1, the personal development world loves spreading the myth that thoughts always control your feelings.
In my experience and research, controlling my feelings is futile. Sure, I can tell myself to be grateful while feeling sad, or I can tell myself I want to feel happy, and it might help for a moment or two, but that isn't how feelings work.
A few months after my Dad died, we were visiting a friend who firmly believes thoughts control our feelings. As I shared how hard the past few months had been since losing my Dad, she responded with. "Well, you need to stop dwelling on his death. He is in a better place, and you had so many years with him. Be grateful for that time and that he is no longer so miserable."
I stood there stunned and thought to myself; I don't want to stop dwelling on his death. I don't want to let go of my grief. There is a giant hole in my heart, and the grief I feel for him is a testament to the love I feel for him and the closeness of our relationship. I didn't say anything to her because I knew it was futile, but it was the first time I had loyalty to my feelings. I didn't allow my Monger to take over. Instead, I stood my ground and acknowledged my feelings.
Feelings are biological sensations that happen in your body involuntarily.
If I am walking in the woods, and I see something like a snake. My amygdala (the part of my brain responsible for sensing threats) sends the message, "Oh my, that is a snake!" and tells my body to freeze. I freeze, and my heart rate increases, and then I start to investigate: I move closer to see if it is alive, think about what snakes might be in the area, etc.
People who teach that thoughts create feelings would explain this interaction by saying the thought, "Oh my, it's a SNAKE," created the feeling of fear, but that is not actually true. The truth is the amygdala being the amazing machine it is, saw a pattern that it had learned was a threat; my body went into fear mode to heighten my senses so I could figure out what was going on, and then my brain thought, "snake."
The problem is we aren't aware of all those other processes. We are aware that we thought "snake" and felt fear, so, therefore, the conclusion is the thought caused the feeling.
But in reality, it is the other way around—our bodies response: our senses heighten, our body freezes, and our heart rate increases which causes the feeling, which then causes the thought, "Oh my, it's a SNAKE."
Even if I determine that it was a rope on the trail instead of a snake, my body will need time to settle and let go of the fear. Because the fear is not psychological, it's biological.
Now let's take this story in a different direction. Let's say a snake had bitten me in the past, so I am very afraid of snakes.
When my brain initially thinks, Oh my, it is a snake, it causes me to FREAK OUT! I have major panic and anxiety.
A few years ago, I would comfort myself by saying, "You are fine—it isn't a snake—you are overreacting. It is just a stick. Come on, move on. You are fine."
To those I was hiking with, it would appear that I was over it—after the adrenalin left my body, I just went on with business as usual. But inside, I was still freaking out, checking the path for snakes, reliving the snake bite incident, and not present for the hike.
Today I would say, "Oh sweet pea, You are safe. (Acknowledge what I am feeling) Understandably, you are afraid. (Slow down and get into your body) Breathe. Shake it off. Do a full-body stretch. (Kindly pull back to see the big picture) That was so scary when the snake bit you. And right now, it is a stick. You aren't in any danger."
As I continued hiking, when I would feel the anxiety creeping up and see myself scanning the path for snakes, I would continue the self-talk of you are safe, understandably you are scared, but that was a stick. You are safe.
It's like a little child convinced there are monsters under her bed—logically, you know it is just a thought there are no monsters—but to the child, the monsters are real, and forcing them to go to bed is torture. The key to dealing with the monster? Honoring the fear the child is experiencing and teaching them how to comfort themselves through the fear.
But as children, many of us were taught to ignore our feelings. Because our parents didn't have the time or energy to deal with them or because they didn't know how to deal with their feelings, let alone our feelings.
We cannot think our way out of our feelings—trust me, I have tried. We have to honor the feelings even if they make no sense, which is a topic we will cover later this week.
Today notice how often you try to think your way out of a feeling and practice giving yourself permission to just acknowledge it.
Ok, I will see you tomorrow!