Standing on the tips of my toes, I lifted the heavy garment bag, stretching toward the high rod in the closet. I was only ten years old and too short to reach it. No matter how hard I tried, I could not hook the hangar over the rod. The bag kept slipping from my hands and falling to the floor. Frustrated by my physical limitations, I burned with anger.
Nearby, my mother sat on the edge of a bed, watching me. Her hand covered her mouth, but I could hear her giggling.
“It’s not funny!” Determined to hang up the garment bag, I jerked it off the floor and tried again. My arms began to ache. My fingers loosened, and the bag tumbled to the floor. My mother burst out laughing.
Rage overwhelmed me. I exploded. My fingers dug into the polyethylene covering and split it open. I ripped the plastic bag apart, not stopping until the entire bag lay on the floor in shreds. When I saw the damage I had done, I lowered my head, ashamed.
My mother jumped off the bed. She charged across the room with her teeth clenched and her hand raring to slap me.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I cried as she beat me.
Lying on the floor, defeated, my emotions scorched, I vowed to never feel again. The incident taught me that showing anger, frustration or any other unpleasant emotion was painful and dangerous. If I revealed them, I would be punished. From that moment on, I promised to bury my feelings and remain indifferent and emotionless in all situations.
My stuffed feelings didn't go away but came out at the wrong time and hurt those I most cared about.
While this declaration helped me survive my abusive childhood, it became a hinderance once I was an adult. My stuffed feelings didn’t go away but came out at the wrong time in the worst ways. Little things, like a missed appointment or a spilled drink would send me spiraling out of control. I would lose my temper and lash out at those closest to me, those who deserved it least.
Other times, I suppressed my emotions until I was by myself. Once alone, I’d throw objects, rip things apart, and call myself horrible names—mistake, loser, failure.
One day I was driving to work and got stuck in a horrible traffic jam. The entire freeway was shut down, and no cars were moving. My hard-nosed boss hated his employees being late. I feared being fired.
Panic set in. I cried. I screamed. I slapped the dashboard and pounded the steering wheel. I had a full-blown fit. By the time I got to work, I was exhausted and miserable, but I knew something had to change.
Slowly, I began to feel again.
Having buried my feelings for so long, I no longer knew where to find or how to experience them. I began drawing to help me reconnect. Using pencil and paper, I sketched my mood, giving shape to feelings I could not yet put into words.
Little by little, my feelings emerged. I learned to pause before reacting so I could understand what I was feeling. Sometimes the emotion on the surface concealed something deeper. Instead of yelling, shutting down, or making a quick decision, I took a deep breath and asked, “What am I feeling right now.” That question created a space between the emotion and my response. By naming and accepting what I felt, I gained greater control over my reactions and found healthier ways to process my emotions.
While drawing helped me recognize my feelings, gardening helped me reduce their intensity. Instead of taking my anger and frustration out on others, I pulled weeds, planted flowers, and trimmed branches. The work did not erase the emotion, but it calmed me enough to examine my feelings with a clearer mind.
If I felt sad, angry or fearful, I judged those emotions as bad. I wanted them to disappear, rather than acknowledge them. Tending to my flower bed taught me that plants need time and repeated, gentle care to grow. So did my emotions. Unpleasant feelings may need more time to be acknowledged and understood. Working the soil and spending time outside helped me stop judging those feelings and begin accepting them.
When I suppressed my bad feelings, I also suppressed the good ones. In my garden, I was able to reconnect with them. Sitting beneath an oak tree, listening to a Carolina Wren sing among its branches brought me peace. The sweet aroma of a tea rose brought me joy. By staying present, I could notice and experience the good feelings happening inside and around me.
By pausing, naming what I felt, and choosing a response that supported my well-being, I learned how to experience my emotions without being controlled by them. Now I trust that no matter what I feel, I will be okay. Each day, I feel more fully connected to my feelings—not just as an exercise, but as a vital part of being alive.