I spend a lot of my day talking about feelings. I get to observe people sifting through their feelings, getting stuck, and trying to problem solve. It strikes me that a lot of our relationship with our emotions is centered around trying to change them, control them, or blaming ourselves for having them. For many of us, the only acceptable states to be in are happy, calm, and attentive to the needs of others. Probably one of the most common questions I get asked about feelings boils down to something along the lines of: “How do I make this feeling go away?”
Feelings are sort of like Ikea furniture: confusing, awkwardly constructed, sometimes surprisingly heavy, and, more often than not, just a pile of nonsensical, disconnected pieces until you finally put them all together. You might discover that you have to go back to the store to get some missing parts. You might need tools that weren’t included in the kit. You might need someone to hold up the other end of whatever thing you’re building at just the right angle for you to put it together. A great many of them may have odd names in a language you don’t quite understand. But if you want them to make sense, you’re going to have to slow down enough to read the instructions, organize the pieces, and move forward intentionally rather than just going ham with that tiny Allen wrench.
Somewhere along the way we got it into our heads that instructions are not important, that we can just power through; work harder, be stronger. Under those conditions it’s your fault if the MALM you were trying to build falls apart or looks nothing like the picture on the box. “Just hide the extra bits that didn’t fit, lean it against the wall, and pretend it’s fine.”
But here’s the thing: no amount of hard work and Allen wrenches will suffice if what you actually need is a hammer, a drill, and a friend to hold the other end of the thing you’re building so it doesn’t fall and crush you. No amount of strength will make up for the random dowel you’re missing.
If we keep leaving these things out the whole thing falls apart. We fall apart and it’s not our fault. It’s not because we’re not strong or smart or hardworking. It’s because we don’t permit ourselves and others the time, compassion, and support to put our feelings together in a way that is safe and coherent.
So, to whoever needs to hear this today: you’re enough and it’s not your fault that MALMs are a pain to assemble.
If you’d like support holding up the heavy pieces, or just want some new tools for your toolbox please don’t hesitate to reach out for support!