Driving the back, country roads to my own therapy appointment, I reveled in the beauty of fall as I listened to a podcast with Brene Brown, author of Daring Greatly. Brene was talking about how people struggle with painful experiences, but often talk about it afterwards by skipping the middle of the narrative. The story goes something like this: “My husband cheated on me, but we got through it and our marriage is better than ever.” Or, “I lost my job and now I’m in a career I absolutely enjoy.” They skip what Brene calls Act II of the story, where we rumble with the emotions of the experience. This idea hit me in my solar plexus for two reasons.
The night before, I facilitated group therapy and watched my clients struggle with Act II. One member described the group session as messy. I agreed with him and praised the group for sharing their untidy feelings. I saw each one struggle bravely with strong emotions of pain and vulnerability as they faced parts of their own narrative. I quietly reminded them that emotions are experiences that pass in and out of our lives and if they give their emotions space, they will shift and lift. We talked about “easy buttons”, those things in our life that push away our emotions, such as substances, food, work, shopping, and sex. We explored the value of honoring our pain rather than pushing our “easy button.”
In the same moment I validated the group members for wrestling with Act II, I was taking my own struggle to the mat. The next day would be my appointment with the skin cancer doctor and I would learn if I needed more biopsies, surgery, treatment, or a combination. A wave of anxiety and grief about cancer had caused me to shed multiple tears the previous morning in church. And now, as I watched my group members courageously face painful emotions, I stood toe to toe with mine. These check-ups are a reminder that I have limited control over cancer. It will do what it will do. But my rumbling was not to be brief. My doctor is ill and I will not see him until next week at the earliest. The rumble continues. It leaves me sitting with the moments of fear, intertwined with moments of deep faith. It’s messy, but I will not skip Act II to avoid the distress. For I know that avoidance will simply prolong and enlarge the emotional anguish of it. And if I let it be, it will shift and lift.
I share this with you, my dear readers, because it is a reminder that all human beings share the experience of rumbling with Act II. But only if we give ourselves permission to face the pain. Sometimes a barrier to rumbling is the belief that we can choose to avoid and just pretend. But in time, that leaves us feeling emotionally overwhelmed. Often times we end up off-loading the pain in ways that are outside our value system. Sometimes, feeling the pain makes us think there is something intrinsically wrong with us. Instead, it only says that we are human, and brave. Really, really brave.
My emotional life feels a little untidy right now. It is hard. But I want to share my Act II so that you can show deep self-compassion to yourself in times of wrestling. You are not alone. We all rumble if we are brave enough.
