Not too long ago, probably in 2019, I was in a bad way.
I had just moved (for the second time in three years) and was exhausted by all the changes. Grumbling to myself, I tumbled off a bus in a nearby neighborhood, probably heading to the grocery. I must’ve presented a grim picture because a cheerful woman walked by me, shook her head sadly, and mumbled something at me about my pitiful mood that I’ve since forgotten.
—I was immediately ashamed and I stopped dead in my tracks.
Was I depressed? Or just Nightwalking? What new catastrophe had my thoughts seized upon that instantly affected my emotions—enough for someone I didn’t know to react to it?
“What does it mean,” Brené Brown asks in her latest book Atlas of the Heart, “if the vastness of human emotion and experience can only be expressed as mad, sad, or happy? What about shame, disappointment, wonder, awe, disgust, embarrassment, despair, contentment, boredom, anxiety, stress, love, overwhelm, surprise, and all of the other emotions and experiences that define what it means to be human?”
Welcome to “In the Sandbox,” our Friday community huddle around each aspect of Daytalking, Nightwalking, and Stargazing. The main goal is to jumpstart thinking and feelings around these aspects and to share ideas with each other.
Another goal of these Friday posts is to move beyond passivity. By actively writing and reflecting on your personal history, you’re better able to grapple with your present and more confidently approach your future. Furthermore, interacting with the rest of our Substack community brings in possibly new and untried ideas and encourages further reflection, support, and action.
I hope you’ll dive in and join the discussion with the rest of us.
For our first prompt on Nightwalking, a bit of caution is urged here.
Of all the aforementioned aspects, this one will require some deeper definition and nuance in posing the prompt and our responses to, and conversations about, it. My hope is that, as a Substack community, we can be gentle with both ourselves and each other, and precision in language is necessary.
As Brown relates in her book, “Without accurate language, we struggle to get the help we need, we don’t always regulate or manage our emotions and experiences in a way that allows us to move through them productively, and our self-awareness is diminished. Language shows us that naming an experience doesn’t give the experience more power, it gives us the power of understanding and meaning.”
My street-shaming Nightwalking episode demonstrated something I’ve carried with me after it occurred—the sheer power we all have when our inner feelings and emotions are directly experienced by others. Just as happiness, laughter, and levity can engender similar feelings in others, so peevishness (such as I felt, which is the precise language I was looking for) can be felt as energy deflected (as the woman above did) away from herself.
For our prompt, there are two choices. Feel free to pick one and respond in the comments:
When have you experienced a reaction from another person about your mood or behavior because of that mood? How did the other person react? How did you feel? Can you name the feelings or emotions you felt?
Or,
When have you experienced your own reaction to your mood or behavior? Were you able to define the mood? (Sometimes this can be best teased out by describing the situation or your behavior at the time.) If you aren’t able to precisely define the mood or feeling, why do you think that is?
Thanks for sharing your responses and see you in the comments!
The train crash changed me down to my DNA. I didn't realize it at the time - I was only eight years old and with a bunch of kids from my overnight camp when a truck plowed into the train car in front of ours. None of us were injured but the train flipped over like that game "Crack the Whip" and we went flying from our seats as it tumbled into a ravine. When it was all over, we were shepherded away from the scene with the demolished truck and the dead bodies, led to the front of the train that had not derailed, and carried on as if nothing happened. A man boarded at a later stop and handed us a piece of paper to give to our parents. When we arrived in Chicago, it was as if nothing happened. I think I lost the paper.
A few months later my folks and I were at O'Hare ready to board a jet when I suddenly felt like I was going to die in that plane. I knew it was going to crash and I became hysterical, begging my parents not to make me go. I am certain they were confused because I was the kid who loved to fly, who once asked a stewardess when we were going to "blast off", who embraced turbulance -- the bumpier the better. Now I was crying and shaking in front of dozens of staring strangers -- and my mother scolded me and told me I was being an embarassment. Much worse than the fear was the intense shame I felt. Something was wrong with me - and I didn't understand why I couldn't control myself.
This was in 1966 - long before PTSD became almost a buzzword. It took me decades to overcome my fear of flying and understand why it happened. Interestingly, the shame lingers to this day.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Hahn, you seem really upset?”
“I’m fine. Now let’s just get back on task.”
Ugh. Do I have to explain my mood to a twelve year-old? In front of a class! So I ignore, try to move on with my lesson, and dismiss.
I also don’t find the student later and mention, “You know? I wasn’t feeling so great. Thanks for asking. I’m feeling better now.”
Why not? People talk about their sprained ankle, their sinus headache, or their upcoming root canal. But mood? It’s often either “Good!” or “Don’t wanna talk about it.” As far as all the emotions that Brown mentions, well, that just might be too much work to explain!
So the next time someone ask me, “What’s wrong?” I might find the right time to explain.
If I’m in the mood.