I generally don’t like talking about how I feel. This might sound odd as much of my blog is dedicated to talking about how I feel. While I’m fine doing that here and a few other places, it almost always becomes painful when I do so with other humans. Let’s explore that together.
Almost everyone I talk to about my feelings uses it as an invitation to turn the focus onto themselves. They do this by complaining about their own problems while I’m in deep pain (“I can relate to you since I’m going through the same thing), giving their unwanted opinions about the situation, providing unsolicited advice, or just flat-out ignoring what I’ve said. Hardly anyone ever asks if I’d like any of that or what I’d like at all before delving into one or more of those seemingly automated responses. All of those responses make me feel worse and also make me want to spend less time around those who use them. Since most folks I come across use them often, I mostly prefer being by myself at this point.
Aside from how others tend to respond to my pain, it often makes me feel worse to talk about it at length. Part of this is because I often feel multiple conflicting emotions simultaneously, which makes any question of how I’m doing difficult to answer. The fact that feelings can change so quickly, be hard to put into words, and often fail to be justly described in words adds to this difficulty. Additionally, some folks seem to relish hearing about negativity to the point that they seem to feel let down if I don’t want to dive deeply into the details. I wonder if they are the same folks who are addicted to consuming any and all dramatic TV, movies, books, podcasts, and even the real-life drama of endless fighting, gossiping, and having bad relationships. Whatever the reason for it, I want nothing to do with those who seem to be nourished by my misery and want me to talk for ages about it so that they can get some kind of perverse pleasure from it.
Everything I’ve said so far especially pertains to talking about my dog Sawyer. I love telling others about Sawyer, showing pictures and videos, sharing some of my favorite Sawyer moments, and otherwise keeping his memory alive by spreading stories of his wonderfulness to anyone who’ll listen. However, when I talk about his death and how much pain that has caused me, things become sadly predictable. Most folks then immediately start talking about their animal friends who’ve died, give me unsolicited advice about handling the remaining pain, presume to tell me about my experience based on their experience (including saying that “the pain never goes away”), or, in the worst cases, just ignoring my pain to focus on whatever else they want to talk about. It was incredibly hard for me to ask for that sort of thing to stop when I was drowning in misery over Sawyer’s death in the first year and a half after he died. Even though the pain is almost gone, it’s still hard for me to request other, better responses. I just wish humans were better at this and so much else.
Reflecting on all of the above reminds me why I’d rather just let go on my own at this point. Working through my own feelings is far faster, easier, more effective, and is free from the chance of getting hurt by looking to somebody else for comfort. Even on the rare occasion in which I pour my heart out to somebody else and found some relief, that relief has always been temporary. Later on, I’ve still had to work through all of my emotions around the unpleasant situation that prompted the venting; if that’s the case, I’d prefer to just skip the venting and go straight to the emotional work. That’s much nicer than being ignored, told what to do, or criticized/shamed for how I’m handling whatever’s hurting me. I’m glad that letting go of painful emotions works so well, given that looking for comfort from others nearly always goes so poorly. I don’t see the latter changing anytime soon, so I’ll keep doing the former and hoping it continues working as well for me as it has over the past six years.