“Cry as often as you need to. It’s the all-purpose healing balm of the soul.” ~Karla 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.
As I walked through his front door, I was greeted by the cheerful sound of children running around, their tiny feet pounding on the hardwood floor as they expertly avoided the table full of gifts in the living room.
Their parents looked just as excited, many enjoying the opportunity to finally have adult conversations (even if they were interrupted by their little ones every few minutes).
My friend’s daughter was particularly thrilled on her special day.
At one point, she bounced down the stairs, holding a giant helium balloon shaped like an exotic parrot. She tied the string to her hand and paraded it around proudly, followed by a swarm of children pleading to hold it for “just a few minutes.”
By this time, most 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 to see what all the commotion was about. To my surprise, I saw the coveted parrot balloon gently floating away, its bright colors dancing defiantly against the clear blue sky. And directly below it was my friend’s daughter, having a full-blown six-year-old meltdown.
Undeterred, my friend went over to the middle of the backyard where his daughter was standing and brought her back to a quiet area on the porch next to where I was sitting.
I wanted to give them privacy, but the mediator in me was secretly glad to be able to overhear how he would handle this predicament. I was used to dealing with adults in conflict. That said, I had minimal experience with six-year-old meltdowns.
I listened intently as he leaned over and gently said to her, “You’re upset, and that’s okay. You can be upset, but not here because we have guests at home. Why don’t you go upstairs to your room? You can be as upset as you want there. Would you like me to come with you and cuddle with you?”
His daughter stopped wailing, sniffed a couple of times, and shyly nodded yes to her father’s offer.
The guests, though well-intentioned, were only fueling her distress with their anxious glances and nervous energy. In that moment, it was clear he wasn’t just trying to keep the party running smoothly. He was also focused on ensuring his daughter had a calm, private space to decompress, away from the crowd’s well-meaning but overwhelming concern.
My mouth was hanging open at this point.
You see, I grew up with the well-intended message that I should not feel certain emotions. “Don’t be upset” and “Don’t cry” were common phrases in my family. This taught me that emotions were something to be ashamed of rather than embraced.
Instead of processing my emotions, I seem to have built up an internal archive of unacknowledged feelings. As much as I hoped they would magically disappear, they have stuck around, cluttering my psyche and seeping out at the most inopportune moments. I suspect many of us grew up with this type of messaging—well-meaning but emotionally restrained.
I wonder if, in that process, we learned to silence the very parts of us that make us human.
I used to blame my parents for denying me the ability to process my emotions effectively. I would ruminate in frustration, Why didn’t they encourage me to express myself? Why was sensitivity met with so much discomfort?
But now I realize that’s a very one-sided view of things.
My parents’ struggles ran much deeper than mine. They fled their home country as refugees, with nothing more than $200 in their bank account and the weight of survival on their shoulders. There wasn’t time for this thing we now call “emotional well-being.”
Their world was about making it to the next day, finding work, shelter, food—anything to build a life for us from the ground up. Emotions, in that context, were a luxury they simply couldn’t afford. They weren’t trying to shut me down; they were trying to protect me from the harsh realities they faced every day.
As much as I understand this intellectually, those ingrained patterns of suppression remained entrenched within me for many years.
As adults, we often unconsciously send ourselves the same messages from our childhood. We distract ourselves instead of processing our emotions. Feeling sad? I bet there’s a great new series to binge-watch. Upset about something? Why not take another peek at your online shopping cart?
A little distraction never hurt anyone. But if it’s the only strategy we use, it short-circuits our emotional processing and causes our feelings to linger and fester.
I don’t know what my friend said or did in the room with his daughter. I imagine he gave her a big hug and let her cry her little heart out so that she could properly grieve the loss of her special balloon.
What I do know is that she emerged back at her birthday party feeling calm and smiling, and she was able to enjoy the rest of the celebration with her friends—birthday cake, regular balloons, gifts, and all.
This experience left me wondering about all the moments in my life that I had missed out on because of unprocessed emotions.
How many experiences, big or small, had I not appreciated because that archive of unprocessed emotions was being triggered?
What was the hidden cost of this on my relationships, work, and well-being?
At the end of my life, how would I feel about the time that I spent missing out on my life instead of being more fully present?
I stared into space, pretending to admire the beautiful backyard, as I contemplated these questions.
When I went home that evening, I made a life-changing decision.
I decided that whenever I felt like that little girl who lost her balloon, I’d take some quiet time and allow myself to feel my emotions. I’d especially make sure to feel the uncomfortable ones—disappointment from unmet expectations, frustration caused by stress at work, sadness resulting from the loss of something precious to me.
I can’t say that it’s always pleasant to dive headfirst into the depths of your pain. Sometimes I need to take a break and make good use of those distraction tactics. When I do, I remind myself that it’s not about being perfect; it’s about being whole.
My hope is that when I look back on my life at the end of my days, I’ll know that I embraced all of the emotions we humans are designed to feel. And that, because of this, I was able to enjoy more of my life feeling calm and smiling—just like that lovely little six-year-old girl.
So, I’m curious, what have you learned about emotions from the children in your life?
