I have a habit of trying to fix things.
If I’m uncomfortable, I want to know why.
If I’m disappointed, I start thinking about what I should do differently.
If I’m uncertain, my brain starts building plans.
And if I’m sad, angry or lonely, some part of me immediately wants to turn that feeling into a problem I can solve.
Maybe it comes from being used to handling things.
I’m very good at asking, Okay, what do I do now?
Usually, that’s useful.
But lately, I’ve been wondering if I ask that question too quickly.
Because sometimes I’m sad because something made me sad.
Sometimes I’m disappointed because I hoped for something and it didn’t happen.
Sometimes I’m angry because something hurt me.
Sometimes I’m lonely.
Sometimes I simply don’t know what happens next.
And maybe I don’t need to immediately turn any of those things into a project.
I don’t need a five-step plan for every uncomfortable emotion.
I don’t need to find the lesson while I’m still living through the experience.
I don’t need to make a decision just because uncertainty makes me restless.
And I certainly don’t need to optimize my sadness.
I hate that feeling. So I try to get rid of it by doing whatever.
But I realize that I can just be sad for a while.
That sounds so simple when I write it down.
It hasn’t always been simple for me.
There’s something reassuring about action. If I can do something, then I’m no longer sitting helplessly with a feeling I don’t particularly enjoy.
But not every feeling is asking me to do something.
Some of them seem to soften simply because I finally stopped interrogating them.
I’ve started letting them sit beside me instead. Or at the back of my head…or heart.
Not forever.
Just for now.
I can be disappointed today without deciding what that disappointment means for the rest of my life.
I can feel lonely without immediately questioning every relationship around me.
I can be angry without making a decision while I’m angry.
I can be uncertain without forcing myself to manufacture certainty.
There will be time for decisions.
There will be time for conversations, boundaries, plans, changes and whatever else comes afterward.
But the feeling itself can come first.
Maybe that is part of gentle healing for me, too.
Not rushing myself toward resolution simply because resolution feels more productive.
Not demanding that I understand it immediately.
Not asking myself what I should do about it, what lesson I’m supposed to learn, or how quickly I can make myself feel better.
I’m learning that sometimes I can simply be sad.
I can be angry.
I can be disappointed in something that didn’t turn out the way I hoped.
I can feel lonely even when I know I’m loved.
I can be uncertain about what comes next.
And none of those feelings automatically means that something needs to be done.
This is surprisingly difficult for me.
I’m used to turning inward with a clipboard.
Why am I feeling this? What caused it? What can I change? What’s the plan?
There is always a tiny part of me trying to turn an emotion into a project.
But lately, I’ve been trying something different.
I let it sit with me.
I don’t have to invite it to move in permanently. I don’t have to let it make decisions for me. But I also don’t have to shove it out of the room the moment it arrives.
Sometimes, after a while, the feeling changes on its own.
The anger softens.
The disappointment becomes less sharp.
The loneliness passes.
The uncertainty is still uncertain, but somehow I become more comfortable carrying it.
And sometimes an action does become clear.
But it comes later, when I’m no longer trying to force an answer out of myself simply because I’m uncomfortable.
Maybe that’s what I’m learning about gentle healing.
Not every uncomfortable feeling is an emergency assignment.
Some feelings just need somewhere to exist for a while.
So I’m giving mine a seat at the table.
I can decide what to do with them later. 🤍
—-
With elegance and quiet fire,
Lady E
Founder, Glow by Lady E
An editorial space for stories, art, and intentional living
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