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Aug. 14th, 2024 10:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jakebe
I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder a little over 15 years ago. For me, it feels like...always being in that state where you're braced for something bad to happen. You know that feeling you get when you're expecting someone to jump out of a closet at you? That feels a lot closer to base-line for me. I know how that sounds to someone who...has a different relationship to anxiety. It sounds intense, and it can be. But at some point, you have to learn how to get on with it. You learn to move through life where the world is a dangerous place and everyone you meet could be someone out to get you. You have to.
One of the things that really helped me get a handle on my diagnosis was the group class Kaiser Permanente offered at the time. I learned how to frame my emotions in a manageable way, and got to know others who struggled with anxiety much more deeply than I did. I'm not sure this was the intention, but developing compassion and empathy for my colleagues taught me how to be more compassionate toward myself.
From that group therapy, I've come to think of my emotions like warning lights in my car -- a "Check Engine" or "Low Temperature" light. They're meant to draw your attention to something that affects how you operate. When you feel anger, it's a sign that your sense of balance or fairness in the world has been upset. When you feel sad, it's a sign you're losing something you care about. When you're anxious, it's a sign you need to get ready for a challenge. In a well-functioning system, I imagine that you feel an emotion, investigate that feeling until you discover what it's pointing toward, and decide what to do about it.
But for most of us, emotions aren't that straightforward. We're not taught how to handle the experience of strong emotions, how to process what we're feeling, how to respond instead of react to what we're feeling. Sometimes, the "Check Engine" light gets way too sensitive and it's always on even when there's nothing wrong. Issues like depression and anxiety are simply a malfunctioning dashboard light -- a helpful tool that has gotten a bit glitchy.
What makes managing that tool so hard is the sheer power of our feelings. When I'm frightened about something, my lizard brain shuts down everything else until I can feel safe again. Sometimes it's so hard to think rationally about a situation I need time until I feel myself again. It almost feels like a dissociative state, when I'm disregulated by anxiety -- I instinctively flee from the reality I'm inhabiting into...anything else. I've talked about this before, but that dissociation has become an unhealthy instinct, a coping mechanism I use for some relief from that ever-present feeling that something bad is just about to happen.
Another metaphor I really like is that of the man and the elephant. Our rational mind is just some dude holding a leash...one with a whole-ass elephant on the other end of it. The elephant is our emotional mind, an immensely powerful creature capable of tremendous destruction if uncontrolled. But, if the man can develop a harmonious relationship with the elephant, they can do amazing things together. Till fields! Build houses! Go to far-flung places few have seen! The problem, though, is obvious. How many of us would know how to get an elephant to do anything we want it to do?
In meditation earlier, I had this epiphany that might be nothing but felt important to put down: I'M the elephant. I've always identified more strongly with my emotions than my rationality. I don't think anyone who knows me would doubt that! Up until then, I had imagined myself as the Man, this tiny little guy who had to wrestle with big scary emotions that I felt I had way more insight into. It wasn't until I flipped that idea on its head, that the Man was my pre-frontal cortex, overburdened and underpowered, where everything clicked.
Suddenly the model of self-compassion and self-care became a lot more obvious to me. Those moments when I'm lost in my emotions -- happiness, excitement, sadness, anxiety -- are ones where I'm dragging along this poor little dude trying to adjust my course or get me to just be still. Now, when I'm feeling disregulated, I can think about my little rational partner and make sure he has a say on where we go before I get moving.
Anyway, this is all to say that...centering myself in my emotions is a more natural way for me to talk about my perspective. And the dissociative crutch I've been using to suppress my emotions is...a life-long mechanism I've used to run away from myself. I feel most disconnected from myself when I've cut myself off from feeling anything.
I'm...just not used to thinking of myself as an elephant. Those of us who have grown up without a sense of power or control have a lot of trouble imagining wielding it -- I suppose that's a form of 'learned helplessness' to unlearn.
Just to make things a little more self-consistent, I think I'll change the archetypes to Bear and Rabbit. Big, emotional, explosive Bear being nervously followed by an overwhelmed Rabbit all-too-aware of the dangers that come with the consequences of thoughtless action. I can't make my Rabbit sad! The things that make his job easier, like meditation and taking my Prozac and Adderall regularly, are the least I can do to be a good partner.
One of the things that really helped me get a handle on my diagnosis was the group class Kaiser Permanente offered at the time. I learned how to frame my emotions in a manageable way, and got to know others who struggled with anxiety much more deeply than I did. I'm not sure this was the intention, but developing compassion and empathy for my colleagues taught me how to be more compassionate toward myself.
From that group therapy, I've come to think of my emotions like warning lights in my car -- a "Check Engine" or "Low Temperature" light. They're meant to draw your attention to something that affects how you operate. When you feel anger, it's a sign that your sense of balance or fairness in the world has been upset. When you feel sad, it's a sign you're losing something you care about. When you're anxious, it's a sign you need to get ready for a challenge. In a well-functioning system, I imagine that you feel an emotion, investigate that feeling until you discover what it's pointing toward, and decide what to do about it.
But for most of us, emotions aren't that straightforward. We're not taught how to handle the experience of strong emotions, how to process what we're feeling, how to respond instead of react to what we're feeling. Sometimes, the "Check Engine" light gets way too sensitive and it's always on even when there's nothing wrong. Issues like depression and anxiety are simply a malfunctioning dashboard light -- a helpful tool that has gotten a bit glitchy.
What makes managing that tool so hard is the sheer power of our feelings. When I'm frightened about something, my lizard brain shuts down everything else until I can feel safe again. Sometimes it's so hard to think rationally about a situation I need time until I feel myself again. It almost feels like a dissociative state, when I'm disregulated by anxiety -- I instinctively flee from the reality I'm inhabiting into...anything else. I've talked about this before, but that dissociation has become an unhealthy instinct, a coping mechanism I use for some relief from that ever-present feeling that something bad is just about to happen.
Another metaphor I really like is that of the man and the elephant. Our rational mind is just some dude holding a leash...one with a whole-ass elephant on the other end of it. The elephant is our emotional mind, an immensely powerful creature capable of tremendous destruction if uncontrolled. But, if the man can develop a harmonious relationship with the elephant, they can do amazing things together. Till fields! Build houses! Go to far-flung places few have seen! The problem, though, is obvious. How many of us would know how to get an elephant to do anything we want it to do?
In meditation earlier, I had this epiphany that might be nothing but felt important to put down: I'M the elephant. I've always identified more strongly with my emotions than my rationality. I don't think anyone who knows me would doubt that! Up until then, I had imagined myself as the Man, this tiny little guy who had to wrestle with big scary emotions that I felt I had way more insight into. It wasn't until I flipped that idea on its head, that the Man was my pre-frontal cortex, overburdened and underpowered, where everything clicked.
Suddenly the model of self-compassion and self-care became a lot more obvious to me. Those moments when I'm lost in my emotions -- happiness, excitement, sadness, anxiety -- are ones where I'm dragging along this poor little dude trying to adjust my course or get me to just be still. Now, when I'm feeling disregulated, I can think about my little rational partner and make sure he has a say on where we go before I get moving.
Anyway, this is all to say that...centering myself in my emotions is a more natural way for me to talk about my perspective. And the dissociative crutch I've been using to suppress my emotions is...a life-long mechanism I've used to run away from myself. I feel most disconnected from myself when I've cut myself off from feeling anything.
I'm...just not used to thinking of myself as an elephant. Those of us who have grown up without a sense of power or control have a lot of trouble imagining wielding it -- I suppose that's a form of 'learned helplessness' to unlearn.
Just to make things a little more self-consistent, I think I'll change the archetypes to Bear and Rabbit. Big, emotional, explosive Bear being nervously followed by an overwhelmed Rabbit all-too-aware of the dangers that come with the consequences of thoughtless action. I can't make my Rabbit sad! The things that make his job easier, like meditation and taking my Prozac and Adderall regularly, are the least I can do to be a good partner.
no subject
Date: 2024-08-14 11:59 pm (UTC)I'd never heard of the person and elephant analogy before, but I must try to remember it.
My emotions have always felt so huge, like tidal waves, and I could never understand how everyone else could cope so well with it. Obviously now I know tidal waves aren't the norm!
no subject
Date: 2024-08-16 06:10 pm (UTC)The Man/Elephant analogy instantly made sense to me because of the sheer power discrepancy between our emotions and rational thinking; it's SO easy for me to get thrown into a headspace where my emotions are too LOUD for rational thought.
Imagining emotional regulation as a process, like training a very powerful wild animal, reminds me that this will take patience, persistence, and some level of...acceptance. At the end of the day, my emotional landscape is what it is. I can waste time wishing it were different, or I could use that energy finding ways to work with it.