Knowing what you feel is better than knowing why

Screaming into pillows made my throat hurt.

So I made a bat - 3 newspaper issues rolled tight and taped together - and pounded it against my garage floor.

I wanted to know why I was so angry at everyone and everything. Irritation always simmering in my gut and chest.

I thought that if I kept pummeling the stained gray concrete, I’d get to the bottom of my anger.

And finally understand.

The first minute was delicious—pure catharsis. Then I got frustrated. And not just because my homemade bat disintegrated.

Because I still didn’t know why I was so mad.

Sometimes, you won’t know why you feel what you feel.

What then?

Start where you are.

Knowing what you feel is much more important than understanding why you feel that way.

There’s a kind of intellectual satisfaction in putting the pieces together. It feels productive, like solving a complicated puzzle.

But searching for understanding can also be a way of intellectualizing your experience. Avoiding the feeling itself.

“Oh, it was that thing my ex did.”

“My mom never listened to me.”

“I was always picked last.”

Our stories can keep us from feeling what’s clamoring for our attention right now.

Instead of thinking about what happened yesterday or last year or when you were 3, focus on what you feel right now.

Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and scan your body.

Head, neck, shoulders, chest, belly, and hips. Where are you tight? Where does it hurt? Where are you numb? Where does it feel scary to explore?

Describe the feeling to yourself. “My belly feels tight. My shoulders are hunched up to my ears. I can’t feel anything in my chest.”

If you can, name the feeling. If not, that’s OK, too.

Just feel.