Don’t dismiss how you feel
‘There is no hierarchy of suffering.’ You can’t compare your pain with someone else’s and think their feelings are more valid than yours.
THIS week, a friend who shared a major problem of his ended our conversation in that common way we all do: “Well, it could be worse – at least I have food and a roof over my head.”
Minimising his suffering reminded me of a story in The Choice (2017) – a book written by clinical psychologist Dr Edith Eger. She had spent time in her youth imprisoned in the notorious Nazi Auschwitz concentration camp during World War II, later building a new life in the United States. She shared the story of two sessions she had with clients. The first was a woman who had just lost a husband and was distraught with grief. The second – who followed the first – carried a similar weight of pain. She had just bought a brand new car and it was painted the wrong colour.
Who do you suppose had the most intense grief? Admittedly, even as a trained counsellor, my initial thought was, “You can send a car back to get it resprayed but you can’t get back a lost loved one”.
As Dr Eger observed, the incident with the car was simply a tipping point upon which so much pain sat, unresolved. What we see on the surface is really the tip of the iceberg. After learning her story, many of Dr Eger’s clients would tell her, “Whatever I went through, at least I wasn’t at Auschwitz – that’s real suffering”.
To this well-meaning point she would reply, “There is no hierarchy of suffering. There’s nothing that makes my pain worse or better than yours.” And yet, this is what we often do: rank and compare our suffering to others and then apologise for how we feel.
This is partly why we find self-compassion so difficult.
When we think of our problems and our pain, we’re often quick to dismiss them in an effort to be strong and be seen to carry on. Apologising for how we feel is a way of avoiding what we feel, and avoidance is a useful coping strategy because it means we avoid having to cope.
Reaching for those two words – “at least” – serves as an emotional shield that prevents us from taking an honest look at ourselves. “At least I’m not starving”, “At least I have a job”, “At least I have my health.”
This instinctive tendency to minimise whatever we’re going through is what helps suppress uncomfortable thoughts and emotions. As Dr Eger suggests, when we numb the pain, it prolongs our suffering – and it also takes us away from what we value, and sometimes who we value.
I remember a gentleman back home who had lost his wife 15 years ago. He was one of those stiff-upper-lip types; not one to show much emotion. One day, he told me that he wished he had said all the things he wanted to tell his wife but never could. He had bottled up his feelings for so long, he lost the ability-to-openup.
The old man’s eyes had moistened slightly and, bucking up, he said, “Oh well, what’s done is done – there’s no point in crying about it now”. I understood his point then. Years later, I’d learned that there’s every reason to open up to how we feel, even if the most poignant moment to do so has passed.
When we dismiss our pain, when we numb our emotions, we also become numb to the joys of life. We might even develop what’s known as Cherophobia – an irrational aversion to being happy that can develop when we become too guarded and too defensive about life and the people around us.
Like any coping mechanism, it has its short-term benefits. To be numb to our suffering and the potential suffering that comes with being open to ourselves and others means that we avoid feeling pain. That’s the benefit.
In time, the price we pay is that we shut ourselves off to joy and isolate ourselves emotionally from the people that truly matter. My late granddad would say, “We tell children, boys especially, that crying is a weakness. Actually, to cry is the strongest thing a man can do; it shows that he’s not afraid of what he feels.”
That strength to open up also reduces our anxiety and fear of loss. We get to say how we feel, we tell the people we love what we want them to hear, and we don’t leave ourselves wishing for “one more day”.
The old man who lost his wife died a couple of years ago. If I could ask his advice now, I’m sure his words would be practical and wise.
He’d say something like, “Never dismiss how you feel. It’s what connects you to the people you love, and that’s the most important thing. Don’t wait until those you love are no longer around to hear your words. Find the courage to say it now and remember that love is the most important thing we have.”
Sandy Clarke has long held an interest in emotions, mental health, mindfulness and meditation. He believes the more we understand ourselves and each other, the better societies we can create. If you have any questions or comments, email lifestyle@thestar.com.my. The views expressed here are entirely the writer’s own.