I spent most of my life being described as overly emotional by every report card and every exasperated adult who could not deal with a little girl whose heart broke over everything. As years went on, I began to wish I didn’t feel so much all the time. I wished , in fact, I felt nothing. Surely that would be better than the derision in people’s voices, the rolling of their eyes, when they couldn’t understand my emotions or why I was crying.
I remember being told by adults I respected that, eventually, I’d grow out of being too sensitive. I couldn’t imagine a situation in which that would be true. The harder I tried to not give in to the tears that flowed easily through anger, frustration, sadness, and excitement, the more easily those tears flowed.
Yet, I tried. I tried harder to not care what other people thought and to not be passionate about things that I saw as a problem. It has never worked for me. It has taken me most of my life to get to a place where I am finally okay with myself enough to say this: If I’m too much then go find someone else who is not. I have run out of patience for people in my life who would berate me for feeling my emotions.
My tipping point came when I was learning to navigate being a parent to kids who had difficult early childhoods. I would never think to ask them to stop crying because it made me uncomfortable. It wouldn’t occur to me to require them to feel their feelings any less. And they have big feelings. They feel things deeply and passionately and they have every right to feel them. As long as they aren’t harming others, they are welcome to whatever feelings they have.
Realizing how wrong it felt as an adult to try and stop a child from feeling emotions has made me reevaluate much of my life I was told, essentially, that I was wrong for being myself. Which, to be honest, probably explains a great deal of my personality as an adult.
This revelation has done a few things as it has sunk into my brain and body. I’ve become more aware of how I feel in the face of disappointment, frustration, anger, sadness, joy, and ennui. I let myself feel the things I’m feeling without making myself change them for the comfort of others. Or, at least, I am trying.
I was worried that made me a selfish person, a selfish mother, to display the wide range of emotions boiling beneath the surface to my kids. I think it would be selfish if I was trying to manipulate or control others through my sadness or anger. I don’t want to make others hurt because of how I’m feeling. But, I’m learning it makes my kids better people to let them be aware of the fact that adults feel big feelings too.
The way this minor revelation exposed itself was when I was overwhelmed by 50 or so small things. Nothing major had happened to cause the feeling of bees buzzing angrily in my skull. No, it was the work of one stubbed toe, one red light too many, forgetting to thaw meat for dinner, and misplacing one pencil/key/measuring cup all day long. Death by a thousand paper cuts, or hen-pecked to death are ways I’ve heard it said.
I was trying to make dinner, and four out of five family members were annoyed or angry with me. They were all talking to me at once (ignoring the fact I was busy and wearing headphones to decrease the sensory input that was overwhelming me). I suppose they weren’t ignoring it because they just began to talk more loudly. I had a massive panic attack. I felt like my chest was caving in. Breathing felt impossible, my legs gave out and I sat down on the floor, hard, put my head in my hands, and cried. I could not get my emotions under control. I could not explain what was wrong. I just gasped for air and cried into shaking hands while rocking back and forth on the dirty kitchen floor.
At first, stunned silence filled the room. And then I learned just how much my kids had been paying attention when I helped them through their big feelings. A gentle hand on my back, a fresh cup of cold water, tissues, whispers of, “How can I help?” and finally, with tender hugs and concerned voices asking if I was sure I didn’t need anything, they went and found other things to do so I could calm down and regulate my emotions. My husband was hovering nearby to make sure I didn’t need an ambulance because of my asthma.
Eventually, my heart rate slowed to something more normal, and I was able to collect my thoughts enough to explain what had happened. Everyone helped get dinner ready. I was escorted to the couch until it was time to eat.
No one freaked out. No one raised their voice at me and told me to calm down or act my age. No one suggested I was overreacting. They were compassionate, sweet, helpful people during what could have ended up with me having a much worse evening.
Later, when everyone was calm and settled, I thanked them for their help and apologized for scaring everyone. “It’s ok Mama. Sometimes we all have big feelings.” That was what my most volatile, tantrum-prone child said with not a hint of condescension. Everyone else nodded in agreement and apologized for bothering me while I was trying to make dinner and was trying to show them I needed things to be quiet with my headphones on.
Hopefully, my people will grow up knowing that they aren’t too much. I hope that if someone accuses them of being overly emotional they can look that person square in the eye and tell them their opinion is unwanted.
