everything is information and nothing is failure

uncomfortable emotions as signposts and not problems

Photo by kevin laminto on Unsplash

I’ve written before about how elimination communication (or infant potty learning) has helped me to begin chipping away at the effects of a lifetime of perfectionism. I sum up the principle at play here in one simple sentence:

In elimination communication, this principle is true because there will always be another opportunity to communicate with your child about their toileting needs. So you didn’t catch this pee, and it ended up on the floor? There will be another chance, and there may even be something you can learn from this “miss” that will help you catch another pee in the future. Squirt, squirt. Wipe, wipe. The floor is lava clean, and you can move on with your day without agonizing over the mess.

But the same principle can be applied in so many areas of our lives! To quote a wise woman I’m blessed to know:

I like to try to see my emotions as information. It helps me to step back and ask, “What is this emotion trying to tell me? What need isn’t being met? What’s really going on here?”

My own emotions often leave me feeling “storm-battered and unconsoled”.¹ Even in moments where I can detach enough from the emotional experience enough to observe myself and my reactions, I usually get caught trying to understand any physiological contributors and trying to untangle the complex threads of who is “at fault” in the situation. I rarely allow myself to lean in with that non-judgmental curiosity, that information-seeking neutrality.

I do, however, certainly pass judgement on myself for “failing” to experience my emotions in a way that is appropriate. For taking my frustration or exhaustion or anger or sadness out on my family. For failing to remain perfectly cheerful all the time. “If I were really [good, holy, virtuous, etc], then I’d know how to handle this emotion in the least disruptive way possible.” So I tell myself. And yet…

What would it look, instead, like to see myself spiraling, step back, and look for the unmet need at the heart of the emotion? I often find that what I actually want or need in that moment is so much simpler than my emotional mind might suggest. Even when the need or desire is not simple or even achievable at all, acknowledging the real issue allows for an easier process of grieving, dealing with the frustration, or

We went to a wedding in Florida a few months back, and when we got home, I knew that the girls were going to have some sleep trouble for a few days as they changed time zones. But I was not prepared for a day where our then twelve-month-old woke at four thirty in the morning and didn’t nap until noon. Sleep-deprived myself and feeling desperately out of control, I snapped repeatedly at both the girls all morning. The day wore on, and while there was a short phase of “she’ll nap when she naps, and there’s nothing I can do to force it” during our morning outing, a botched carrier-to-car-seat transfer was the proverbial last straw. (She’d fallen asleep in the carrier and woke up when I moved her.) I was absolutely raging the entire drive home.

When we got home, I put the toddler down for her nap in my room and let the baby alternate between playing and crying in her bed until she fell asleep. I truly, deeply, existentially feared that she would stay away for another eight hours, that I would not be able to take any time to rest, that her overtired fussiness and clinginess would control me until bedtime, and then again all night long.

I felt completely out of control, unable to rein in my fear or my anger. I found myself speaking unkindly to the toddler—who was uninvolved in the baby’s situation, not having a struggling nap day, acting in age-appropriate ways, and absolutely not “at fault” in any way—and I felt like I had no power to stop the angry, short-tempered words coming out of my mouth. I’d resolve to do better, then snap again within a minute. I’d apologize, only to commit the same offense moments later.

I told James over text as the toddler slept and the baby fussed, “I’m being a bad mom and letting her cry in her bed.”

There it is again, the shame. The judgment. The inability or unwillingness or inattentiveness to what my anger was trying to tell me.

Within a few minutes, I got a text from my dear father-in-law: “I’m going to plan to come by in an hour or two when I finish up my errands. I’ll plan to take the girls for a walk so you can take a nap.” It was his day off. I know that James must have texted him, and for a moment, I felt annoyed.

Doesn’t James know that having Papa here won’t fix everything? Why is he just trying to assuage his own guilt for not being here by forcing me into a social situation where I have to play hostess and keep myself composed because we have company over?

But that’s not at all what was happening, and after the baby finally fell asleep, and I was able to get what I needed (some silence, a short nap, and a moment of personal time), I realized that this is exactly what James and Papa were working together toward: my getting what I needed.

In other words, James (who, frankly, knows me better than I know myself) could see in my emotions a desperate cry for help, for rest, for not-being-alone-in-this, and he acted to make it happen. If left to my own devices, I would have convinced myself that I was too angry to spend time with anyone, that I didn’t want to feel trapped into containing my anger or exhaustion. I would have stayed at home, alone with the girls, for the rest of the day, stuck in the same patterns that were so deeply hurtful to all three of us.

I was so caught up in trying to respond to and manage each progressive moment of the day that I hadn’t stopped to ask, “What do I need, really? What is this anger revealing about my heart?”

But my utter inability—and unwillingness—to self-regulate was a sign that what I needed was support, not isolation. Community, not just food or sleep. (Food and sleep as well, always, but this went beyond just “if you think you hate everyone, you need to eat, and if you think everyone hates you, you need to sleep”.)

As we’ve talked about previously, all growth comes through acceptance. It is not until I am able to accept (or, at least, understand) my emotions that I will be able to move through them. I will remain storm-battered and unconsoled as long as I am trying to fight back, trying to talk myself out of my irrational responses, trying to self-soothe by endlessly repeating to myself, “you’re fine, just pull yourself together.”

Likewise, when I am trying to hold space for my daughters’ emotions, I am trying to train myself to ask gentle questions, to make pointed observations, to allow them space to reflect and respond. A quiet, “it feels like you’re really upset—you wanted to stay and play at the park longer,” can go a long way. I want them to know, deep in their gut and their mind and their heart, that they can feel things and then let things go. I want to be a safe space for them to be able to do that, both as children and (God-willing) many years from now as adults, and I want to be the safe place for them to learn and practice this invaluable life skill.

A final thought as we wrap up this short and somewhat unresolved reflection: we all have to take responsibility for our own selves. We shouldn’t try to take responsibility where it doesn’t belong to us, and likewise, we shouldn’t try to pass it to someone else in those times when it does sit squarely on our shoulders.

You are not responsible for managing your spouse’s emotions. Your spouse is not responsible for managing your emotions. Yes, perhaps your child did something and you’re angry about it. Your response is still within your control. The ways you prepare yourself for moments that you know will be stressful… still in your control. There will always be seasons where we cannot meet every need or desire on our heart, but there are also always small things we can do that will help us manage until the stronger support comes through and the larger need can be met. We can get creative, play the long game, and hold one another accountable.

Taking on the mindset that everything is information and nothing is failure doesn’t absolve us from our responsibility to be charitable to those around us. But instead of getting stuck in cyclical, unhelpful thought patterns ripe with blame and shame and self-loathing, we can see ourselves as we are: only human, fallen, broken, and pursuing healing and wholeness. We can remind ourselves that we are, after all, only children before the Lord.

“O afflicted one, storm-tossed and not comforted,
behold, I will set your stones in antimony,
and lay your foundations with sapphires.

I will make your pinnacles of agate,
your gates of carbuncles,
and all your wall of precious stones.

All your children shall be taught by the LORD,
and great shall be the peace of your children.

In righteousness you shall be established;
you shall be far from oppression, for you shall not fear;
and from terror, for it shall not come near you.”

- Isaiah 54:11-14 ESV

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