Loud Desperation
You know that Thoreau saying about how “most men lead lives of quiet desperation”?
Well, I’m not into that.
I’m into loud desperation. Especially when I’m sobbing.
I love me a good, loud sob. Especially when I refuse to use tissues and tears are mixing with snot and it’s a messy, messy, gloriously messy mess.
When I ended up in rehab at age 22, the owner of the program happened to be one of the nation’s foremost experts on trauma at the time.
And she taught everyone from day one not to hand anyone a tissue when they’re crying. Because, even though you’re clearly trying to be helpful, you’re signaling to the tissue receiver that they need to clean themselves up. To get themselves under control. To be less messy.
Our society loves it when things aren’t messy. Quote-unquote “hard” emotions are so uncomfortable, aren’t they? When someone is having big, big, big feelings (like I frequently am at the moment), the laundry doesn’t get done. Their shift at the factory might get skipped. They might not be a productive little busy body.
But… our society has depression rates hovering around 30%?
Which is super high. A third of our adult population struggling with an ailment that saps all your energy, motivation and – frequently – will to live?
Yikes.
A lot of times, depression is a freeze response. We become frozen and stuck because we’re supposed to keep it all together. To soldier on. To tend to the laundry and wash our hair and put on a dab of mascara before heading out of the house because this is POLITE SOCIETY, thank you very much.
But me and my friends? The people I like to sit around campfires with?
Give us the mess.
Give us the mess, give us the mess, give us the mess.
Sob it out. Puke into a bucket while ayahuasca shows you where you’re resisting. Sweat and scream and steam and…
Soar.
Yes. Soar.
Because, in my experience, that’s where the big, messy, untamed emotions get you. To a place of soaring, beautiful heights.
When they’re released, anyway. When they’re allowed. When they’re not suppressed or tidy-ed up or otherwise tucked away…
They pass through you. They don’t stick around for decades, showing up as chronic depression or another equally sticky ailment.
They’re just… done.
And then you feel great.
More than great. You feel ecstatic.
And I love me some ecstasy.
I wrote earlier this week that all I wanted right now was a little itty bitty spiritual retreat where I could focus on going inward and dancing with the challenging feelings I’m encountering and this is why. I don’t see challenging emotions as a punishment. I don’t see them as something to white-knuckle your way through. I see them as an invitation. And I want the space to accept the invitation. Not only because I’m curious about what’s on the other side. But because this stuff – the actual alchemy, the process of going into the fire – it’s intensely fascinating to me.
Onward,
Keely
P.S. Also, in case you’re listening Universe, I’d like to remind you that I’m still a fan of gentle. While I’m absolutely willing to go into the fire and burn burn burn if that’s what’s necessary… gentle’s pretty darn nice. If I can learn the lesson just as well through gentleness, I choose that path please and thank you.
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Morning Musings is a delight-first writing practice where I wake up, put my fingers on the keyboard and “learn in public” (credit: Liz Gilbert). If anything I write resonates with you, please share it freely.
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