feelings Archives - Epilepsy Dad

All the Feels

Well, that happened.

I hoped we were better. I hoped we could be compassionate and selfless enough to think beyond the issues that impact us individually and vote for the issues that affect our country. I hoped we could see past the tactics of anger and fear that have polarized us against each other. I hoped that the close-minded view that the country was meant only for people who looked, spoke, and prayed like us would bend to consider the segments of the population at risk of losing their rights and identity.

But the results spoke for all of us. Unlike the last election, there were no claims of a stolen election. There is no debate that the Electoral College doesn’t represent what the country believes like the popular vote does because, this year, they both overwhelmingly showed what our country has become.

The past week has been filled with armchair analysis and retroactive criticism about what went wrong for the Democratic Party. Each clip tries to encapsulate a soundbite to explain the rationally irrational human brain, often contradicting another clip that uses the opposite justification.

I’m not sure we will ever know the answer. It certainly won’t change what is about to happen. But I think people want change but don’t want to change. We don’t seek information that could change us because our minds and hearts are not open to change, and we bury ourselves deep into echo chambers that reaffirm our righteousness.

What I do know is that this week, I felt all the feels. As a husband, the father of a special needs child, the godfather of a teenage girl, a veteran, and a friend of beautiful humans from different countries with different beliefs and identities, I was shocked by the result, angry at who we have become, and afraid of what the world will look like for the people who I care about in the next few years and for my son when he grows up.

We may not recognize it because we’re so caught up in our feelings, but our kids have a lot of feelings about this, too. They see what is happening and hear our conversations even if they don’t understand the details. They’re trying to make sense of what is happening, too, and if we can’t do it, how can we expect them to do it?

What we can do is help them with their feelings. We can encourage them to say their feelings out loud and to ask for help when their feelings are confusing or too big. We can demonstrate this behavior by sharing our feelings with them in an age-appropriate way. We can be present, listen, and demonstrate sympathy and empathy for them and everyone who needs it now more than ever.

Last year, my wife published a children’s book called “And” about feelings and the permission to feel multiple, conflicting feelings all at once. We use AND a lot in our house, as do our friends and readers. I think it’s such an important message, especially in these challenging times, and especially for our children, that we’re offering a 50% discount on the book to share the message and help as many children and families as possible.

To claim the discount, visit our store and use the code “ALLTHEFEELS2024” for 50% off through November 2024 when you order directly from kettlepot press.

kerri monnerat and social emotional childrens book

Take care of yourself and your family. And let’s take care of each other.

Guilt, Shame, and Fear

I recently stumbled upon a reference to how cultural anthropologists categorize societies based on how they control behavior in those societies as guild-shame-fear.

I pulled these descriptions from the always dependable Wikipedia:

Guilt Society

In a guilt society, control is maintained by creating and continually reinforcing the feeling of guilt (and the expectation of punishment now or in the afterlife) for certain condemned behaviors. The guilt worldview focuses on law and punishment. A person in this type of culture may ask, “Is my behavior fair or unfair?” This type of culture also emphasizes individual conscience.

Shame Society

In a shame society (sometimes called an honor–shame culture), the means of control is the inculcation of shame and the complementary threat of ostracism. The shame–honor worldview seeks an “honor balance” and can lead to revenge dynamics. A person in this type of culture may ask, “Shall I look ashamed if I do X?” or “How will people look at me if I do Y?” Shame cultures are typically based on the concepts of pride and honor. Often actions are all that count and matter.

Fear Society

In a fear society, control is kept by the fear of retribution. The fear worldview focuses on physical dominance. A person in this culture may ask, “Will someone hurt me if I do this?”

I was interested in the topic because I have lived at the intersection of all three.

Until sixth grade, I went to an old-school Catholic school and church, where the nuns still wielded rulers as weapons, and God was always watching and never approving. I can still picture one of the sisters with terrible arthritis, and her hand contorted perfectly to wrap around one of the long wooden chalk sticks. I remember feeling that everything I did was a sin, deserving of punishment, and wrong, deserving of exclusion.

I also grew up in a household with a single, frustrated, angry mother and an older, equally angry sister. I spent a lot of time trying to be and keep everything perfect to avoid getting punished, always fearful of the hand and the wooden spoon.

I thought this was normal. As I got older, the voice inside my head would take over for the nuns, my mother, and my sister, reinforcing the messages of guilt, shame, and fear.

It wasn’t until after I was married and we had our son (and a lot of therapy) that I started to see and understand that my childhood was traumatic and how it affected me as an adult.

Guilt is what kept me feeling wrong.

Shame is what kept me feeling alone.

Fear is what kept me feeling small.

The behaviors that I developed to help me survive in a state of guilt-shame-fear became toxic in my adult relationships, closing me off to the people I desperately wanted to be close to and spreading out to every aspect of my existence: relationships, love, intimacy, sexuality, self-esteem, friendships, goals, expectations, happiness, comfort, safety.

What got you here won’t get you there…

I am on a journey of recovery and untethering myself from my old patterns and beliefs. However, as I go through this process, I want to ensure that my son has a different experience. While we’re not religious, and there (probably) aren’t nuns waiting around the corner, the most likely transmitter of the guild-shame-fear burden is me.

I still wrestle with my lingering expectations of perfection and fear that I will disappoint the people around me. I still feel the grip of guilt and shame for my actions and who I am.

While I am very conscious of the words I use when I engage in these topics with my son, it’s not only the words that influence how he interprets these messages. It’s how he sees my relationship with these feelings that will demonstrate what his relationship with the feelings should be. Even when I think I successfully internalize or hide these feelings, I know I am not that good of an actor. Their effects are visible on my face, body, voice, and how I present myself to the world.

In many ways, the work my wife and I have done has created a very different environment for our son than either of us had. I can see that in how he interacts with the world. He isn’t fearful like I was and is one of the bravest people I know. He feels guilt when he does something wrong, not thinking everything he does is bad like I did. And his relationship with shame is much healthier than mine, and he can also feel dignity and positive self-esteem.

It’s not perfect, and we’re continuing to equip ourselves with the knowledge and tools we need to continue to develop a healthy relationship with these feelings in ourselves and him. But I see such a difference in him compared to what it was like for me growing up, and seeing that difference gives me hope that I can continue to make changes for myself, too.

What Got Me Here

“How are you doing?”

It’s such a loaded question. I fear that if I gave the real answer, it would overwhelm the person who asked it and they would never ask again. I’d be surrounded by people who were all too afraid to ask how I was and I’d feel more alone than I already do.

Most people get the obligatory “Good, thanks, how are you?” Closer friends may get more of the story. Maybe not the full story, but some of the mechanical bits about how tired I am because I never really sleep. But we don’t talk about how sad I am, or how much I worry about the future or what would happen if something happened to me? I’m not sure that I even talk about that with my wife as much as I should.

It’s isolating, this not wanting to burden the people around me with the depth of these issues. Besides, I’m a man. It’s not in my nature to share. We internalize, and apply logic, and try to solve an impossible problem. We certainly don’t talk to other people about it. It’s a sign of weakness. Even if other people are going through exactly the same thing and talking about it would be the high tide that raised all ships, it’s better somehow to keep all the boats stuck in the mud.

I know it’s bullshit. At least, my head does. I think. But after so many years of figuring it out myself and seeing where that got me, it’s hard to let go of the idea that the things that got me here are the things that are going to get me to where I want to be. After all, I have a pretty good life. I’ve done some amazing things and traveled the world. I have a Master’s degree and a good job. These successes are the result of my figuring out how to survive in this messy, hard and sometimes cruel world.

Those tactics, though, serve only to protect me from the outside world. Their side effect is to isolate me from the people around me. My wife is going through the same things I am, and when she is looking to me for support and a connection, I’m nowhere to be found, lost in my own inner workings. She may push and poke to see if I am there and I respond by pulling further away and burrowing further into my hole. In the end, we push each other away when we should be moving towards each other, we are left angry and frustrated when we should be comforting and empathetic, and we find ourselves alone when we should be together.

“What got you here is not what will get you to where you want to be.” That is the type of insight you get when you open yourself up to guidance and support. Asking for help is not a sign of weakness. It shows my commitment to my family and my belief that the stronger and better connected the unit is, the better capable we will be to face what is in front of us together. It shows that I don’t have the tools to solve this impossible problem and that it’s important enough for me to develop a new set of skills. It’s setting a good example for my son so that he doesn’t follow the same path of pushing people away and trying to do it all himself. It breaks my heart to think about the difficulties that he is going to have in his life and the idea of him facing them alone.

What got me here is not what will get me to where I want to be. It’s time to work on what will get me there, together with my wife, my family, and my friends.