Creating the conditions for emotional honesty - at home and work
It begins young.
The fear of showing our emotions to others.
My 9 year old was crying his eyes out this morning. Deep sobs that shook his little frame.
But what was most heartbreaking to watch was not the tears but the attempts at composure.
He was standing behind the door, late for school, trying to stop the sobs and to remove traces of the tears before he faced the outside world. Before he was confronted with other parents and kids dealing with their own Monday mornings.
(Our house is right by the school so there is little hiding to be done - the friendly hellos are instant as soon as the front door is opened. It was as if he was backstage in a theatre, arranging his face before he stepped through the curtain to face the audience.)
It was heartbreaking to realise he feels he has to pretend to friends and teachers that he is ok and happy.
Participants on my Courageous Leaders programme tell me how much they appreciate having a space every week where they can show up as they are. Where they can express and explore what they are feeling and why, in the company of other leaders who are learning to accept and stay curious about emotions.
The courage goes both ways.
It takes courage to show how we are really feeling and to sit with our own strong feelings in the company of others. It’s exposing, awkward and feels risky. We’d probably prefer to put on a positive face and say we’re fine.
But it also takes courage to hear how another person is really feeling and to sit with them in their strong emotions. To sit with our own discomfort and the complex feelings we feel when we witness another person’s pain or anger.
Leaders on my programmes learn to listen inwards. To notice when they feel uncomfortable and want desperately to fix a situation, to take the difficult emotions away or to cheer the person up.
And they learn to simultaneously listen outwards. To empathise, press pause on their judgements and to stay curious when faced with strong emotions in another.
This comes naturally to me when I’m in the presence of adults experiencing strong emotions (one of the many reasons I do the work I do). I know at both a heart and head level that what they need most in that moment is expression, acceptance and empathy.
And yet, when faced with strong emotions in my children, as I was this morning, I hear myself uttering the words ‘it’s ok’. Despite knowing that in that moment it is definitely not ok. It is overwhelming, it is terrifying, it is deeply distressing, or it is something else that is far from ‘ok’. And despite knowing that those little, well-meaning words give out a message that I haven’t intended - that he needs to be ok when he faces the world. That he needs to stop sobbing and pretend he wasn’t even crying in the first place. When what I long for is for him to be able to tell his friends and his teachers ‘I’m feeling upset because…’ And to continue that courageous habit into adulthood and into the workplace.
So why do those words tumble out of my mouth when I see my son sobbing violently before leaving for school?
Because I want it to be ok. Because I care. Because I don’t want him to suffer. Because his pain evokes pain in me - a combination of deep empathy and a triggering of my own wounds.
But also because - and this is harder to admit to myself - I haven’t always got the energy, patience, resilience or time to give his emotions the space they need. Meltdowns are never well timed. And they are rarely pleasant. His sadness is usually accompanied by a stroppiness and rudeness that is out of character for him. He shouts, pushes me away, blames me for what he is feeling. And that is triggering. It’s illogical, seemingly out of proportion and feels unfair. It awakens my own inner 9 year old.
In those moments, I have to work harder to focus back on him. To remember that the rageful behaviour will pass, and when it does, he’ll feel regret and maybe shame. To remember that, like most adults (myself included!), he finds it hard to regulate his emotions in the moment. That when he hits out at me with his angry words, it is not personal. It is because he feels safest with me. (See my previous blog about Restraint Collapse)
And to remember that what will most help him in those moments of sadness and rage is a recognition of what he’s feeling (acceptance and empathy), not pretending it’s ok when it isn’t… ‘It’s so, so hard when that happens, isn’t it?’... ‘What do you need?’... ‘Do you need a cuddle?’... ‘I love you.’ Or to just stand next to him without saying anything, to be there for him when he’s flooded, without judgement.
It’s important, but not enough, to ask someone how they are feeling (a friend, a child, a colleague, a line report). If we really want an honest answer, for them to feel safe enough to tell us how they are feeling, we have to create the conditions, the culture, at home or work, for them to tell us.
We have to do the inner listening as well as the outer listening. To notice and sit with our own discomfort when someone cries or expresses anger to us. And to encourage them to keep expressing, despite our discomfort.
If you would like to find out more about my 9-week Courageous Leaders programme (runs once a year as an open programme, for up to 12 leaders), drop me an email. The next one starts in Spring 2023.
