“Cry as much as you need to. This is the universal soul-healing balm. ~Cara McLaren, The language of emotions: What your feelings are trying to tell you
A few years ago, a good friend invited me to his six-year-old daughter’s birthday party.
When I walked in his front door, I was greeted by the joyful running sounds of children, their tiny feet tapping the hardwood floors and deftly avoiding the gift-laden table in the living room.
Their parents seemed equally excited, and many enjoyed finally having a chance to have an adult conversation (even if they were interrupted by their children every few minutes).
My friend’s daughter was so excited for her special day.
At one point, she jumped down the stairs holding a giant helium balloon shaped like an exotic parrot. She tied the rope to her hand and proudly showed it around, followed by a group of children begging to hold it for “a few minutes.”
By this time, most of the guests had moved to the backyard to enjoy the sunny weather. I was chatting with a friend on the porch, observing the celebration in full swing, when suddenly I heard a scream.
I turned around to see what the commotion was about. To my surprise, I watched the coveted parrot balloon float gently away, its bright colors dancing defiantly in the clear blue sky. Right below it was my friend’s daughter, who was going through a full-blown meltdown when she was six years old.
Undeterred, my friend walked to the middle of the backyard where his daughter was standing and led her back to a quiet spot on the porch next to where I was sitting.
I wanted to give them privacy, but the mediator in me was secretly happy to overhear how he would handle this dilemma. I’m used to dealing with adults in conflict. That said, I have very little experience with six years of meltdowns.
I listened intently and he leaned down and said softly to her: “You’re upset, that’s okay. You may feel upset, but not here because we have guests at home. Why don’t you go upstairs to your room Where you can feel as uncomfortable as you want. Would you like me to go with you and give you a hug?
His daughter stopped crying, sniffed a few times, and nodded shyly in agreement to her father’s proposal.
Although the guests meant well, their anxious glances and nervous energy only exacerbated her pain. In that moment, it was clear he wasn’t just trying to make the party go smoothly. He also worked to ensure his daughter had a calm, private space to decompress, away from the well-intentioned but overwhelming concerns of the crowd.
My mouth opened wide at this point.
You see, I was taught, with good intentions, that I shouldn’t feel certain emotions. “Don’t be sad” and “don’t cry” are common phrases in my family. This taught me that emotions are something to be ashamed of, not something to embrace.
Instead of processing my emotions, I seemed to have built an internal archive of unacknowledged emotions. As much as I wish they would magically disappear, they are always with me, messing with my psyche and seeping out at the most inopportune moments. I suspect many of us were raised on this type of messaging—well-intentioned but emotionally restrained.
I wonder if, in the process, we learn to silence the parts of us that make us human.
I used to blame my parents for taking away my ability to process my emotions effectively. I would reflect in frustration, Why don’t they encourage me to express myself? Why does sensitivity cause so much discomfort?
But now I realize that this is a very one-sided view.
My parents’ struggles were much deeper than mine. They fled their home country as refugees with only $200 in their bank accounts and the burden of survival on their shoulders. There was no time to think about what we now call “emotional health.”
Their world is about surviving until the next day, finding a job, shelter, food—all the things that build a life for us from the ground up. In this case, emotion is a luxury they simply cannot afford. They weren’t trying to stop me; They were trying to protect me from the harsh realities they faced every day.
As far as I understand intellectually, these deep-rooted repressive patterns have been ingrained in me for years.
As adults, we often unconsciously send ourselves the same messages we did as children. We distract ourselves instead of processing our emotions. Feeling sad? I bet there’s a great new series worth checking out. Upset about something? Why not take another look at your online shopping cart?
A little distraction never hurt anyone. But if this is the only strategy we use, it can short-circuit our emotional processing, causing our emotions to linger and fester.
I don’t know what my friend said or did in the room with his daughter. I think he gave her a big hug and let her cry her little heart out so she could properly grieve the loss of her special balloon.
All I know is that she came back to the birthday party feeling calm and smiling, and that she was able to enjoy the rest of the celebration with her friends – birthday cake, regular balloons, gifts, etc.
This experience made me wonder about all the moments in my life that I missed due to unprocessed emotions.
How many experiences, big and small, have I not been grateful for because those unprocessed emotional archives were triggered?
What are the hidden costs of this to my relationships, work, and well-being?
At the end of my life, how will I feel if I miss out on life instead of living more fully in the present moment?
As I pondered these questions, I stared into space and pretended to admire my beautiful backyard.
When I got home that night, I made a life-changing decision.
I decided that whenever I felt like that little girl who lost her balloon, I would take some quiet time and allow myself to feel my emotions. I especially make sure to feel those uncomfortable feelings—the disappointment of unmet expectations, the frustration of work stress, the sadness of losing something precious to me.
I can’t say that diving headfirst into the depths of pain is always pleasant. Sometimes I need to take a break and make the most of these distraction strategies. When I do this, I remind myself that it’s not about being perfect; It’s about wholeness.
My hope is that when I look back on my life at the end of my life, I will know that I embraced all the emotions that humans are designed to have. Because of this, I am able to enjoy life more, feel calm and smile – just like that sweet little six-year-old girl.
So, I’m curious, what have you learned about emotions from the children in your life?
