Give Permission to Your Process: It's Okay to Be Sad
Three years ago, I was sitting across from my therapist when she said something I will never forget.
In the midst of grappling with some unexpected family news, I thought it would be helpful to seek counseling from a trained professional.
As we started our session, I was sharing how self-aware I was and how I knew the impact of experiences in my childhood on how I show up as an adult. I made sure she knew that I have a background in psychology and that I've done a lot of personal growth work. I wanted her to know that I needed her to go beyond basics.
About halfway through our time together, my therapist asked me a question that caught me off guard.
My lips quivered.
I felt a tightness in my throat.
Before I knew it, a warm tear was rolling down my cheek.
Within seconds, I started to deconstruct the imaginary wall I'd built up around myself for so many years as protection. I made the choice to let her in and started to open up.
At the end of the session, she shared something she had noticed with me: "When you got here, you showed up as really confident, even a little bit intimidating. But just now, I saw you soften. I get the feeling that you don't get to be in that space very often."
She was right.
I was the I-have-it-all-together-all-the-time good girl, and I did not have time for anything that was going to slow me down or make me look "less than" to anyone.
She asked me how I was feeling, and I told her about the tightness in my throat and how so many of my health issues throughout my life have impacted my throat. From strep to bronchitis and laryngitis to a decade of acid reflux, my throat has always been my weak link.
What she said next was what stuck with me:
"There's a school of thought that we store certain emotions in certain parts of our body. The throat is where we store sadness."
I crumbled.
I was undone.
Sadness.
A feeling that had been off limits to me for much of my life.
From a young age, I had internalized the belief that good girls aren't allowed to be sad.
When my parents' marriage was in jeopardy when I was five-years-old and I was scared, I silenced my sadness.
When everyone in my class of 27 kids got a Christmas card, except me, I was sad, but I didn't show it.
When everyone except me and one other girl in my class were invited to Abbey's birthday party, I was sad, but I shut it down instead of opening up.
Good girls aren't allowed to be sad.
I was allowed to be sad in certain situations: In my room when I was alone by myself. In the pages of my journal. In my dad's arms when he would sit with me and comfort me when I felt like I didn't I fit in or that my peers didn't like me.
Aside from than those moments, I shoved my sadness into the back corner of a basement closet.
Space for Sadness
Therapy and simultaneously recovering from burnout were the catalysts for my healing. Little by little, I began to allow my sadness to have a voice. I gave it permission to be unmuted instead of silenced. It took me until my mid-30s to be able to give sadness its space.
Something happened this past weekend that awakened that sadness.
It hit me unexpectedly.
I was watching a movie about an underdog high school basketball team.
In the final seconds of the game that determined who went to the playoffs, the star player hit a buzzer beater to win the game.
The crowd went wild. Fans rushed the court.
His teammates hoisted him up on their shoulders. They hugged and high fived and huddled together, celebrating their collective moment of victory. I could feel myself smiling. It was like I was right there with them, feeling their joy and excitement.
And that's when it hit me.
The sadness.
I could feel something welling up inside of me and could feel a tear coming to my eye.
Instead of whisking it away like an unwelcome guest, I let the sadness linger for a few moments. I got curious about it instead of judging it.
I was hit with the realization of not knowing how long it'll be before we'll be able to recreate an experience like that - thousands of people coming together to celebrate...in person.
Here's the truth.
I miss being with people.
I miss their hugs and high fives and the feeling of being in their physical presence.
I miss the subtleties of body language that you can't experience in quite the same way through a computer screen.
I miss looking into someone's eyes and seeing their soul, something I haven't found a way to recreate through technology.
I miss the background buzz of a coffee shop as we're practically sitting on top of each other and feeding off of each other's energy.
I miss birthday parties and family dinners and Sunday mornings at church and lunch dates with friends.
I miss being with people.
And sometimes it makes me feel sad.
It's Okay to Be Sad
We're all missing something right now.
We've all experienced loss - loss of familiarity, control, our sense of safety, freedom, expectations, incidental interactions, coworkers, income, innocence, trust in people and places.
It makes sense that we're sad.
We've experienced trauma and great losses in the midst of coronavirus. We have to give ourselves permission to grieve, to let go of what we thought this season would look like.
I've spent many moments with my sadness over the past six weeks, and it's been really hard to grapple with so many losses at one time. But I know it's part of process I have to let myself experience, without judgment.
When we give our sadness space instead of suppressing it, we can feel it, accept it, and then release it.
Once we do that, we can move forward, even if we don't know exactly where we're going.
Because I let them have a voice now, my moments of sadness pass through me more quickly. They're more like fluffy clouds passing by on a warm spring day, instead of dark and heavy rain clouds following me around and hanging over my head.
Allow yourself to experience the range of emotions that are flowing through you right now. Try not to label them as "good" or "bad" or judge yourself for feeling them.
It's okay to be sad.
Here's what I invite you to consider about yourself:
Are you giving space to your sadness, or are you suppressing it?
If you've been suppressing it, what is one step you can take this week to allow yourself to sit with the sadness and feel it, instead of whisking it away?
Maybe talking to a friend or family member you trust or journaling about it would be helpful.
If the sadness won't seem to lift no matter what you do, reach out to a therapist through your health plan or EAP. To learn more about the difference between sadness and depression, keep reading here.
It's brave to seek the support you need. You can feel better.
Moving Forward
I don't know what's next.
No one does.
But I do know this.
I've made it through every difficult season so far, and so have you.
I'm going to keep showing up each day, taking one step at a time, moving forward and giving permission to my process along the way.
I'm choosing to allow myself to feel the sadness when it passes through me and to give myself equal opportunity to take in the moments of joy and lightness and goodness.
It's okay to be wherever you are right now.
It's part of your process.
Your Story
I always love hearing from you and getting to know you better! Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments below:
What resonated with you from this post?
What did it open up for you or how did it help you?
What helps you when you're experiencing sadness?
We can learn so much from each other, and we will get through this season.
I can't wait for all the hugs and high fives on the other side! :)
Learn More
Read Permission to Feel by Marc Brackett, PhD, Director of the Yale Center for Emotional Intelligence or listen to his podcast conversation about permission to feel on Unlocking Us with Brene Brown
Listen to David Kessler’s podcast conversation with Brene Brown on Grief & Finding Meaning
Feel free to connect with me on LinkedIn and Instagram if we're not already connected.
To learn more about virtual resilience training I offer to organizations to support their people and their leaders during this time, go here..
