> Seeing people this way can be condescending, but also gentle: it nods to the basic psychological needs that often drive our behavior.
I think the author is on to something. We are far less willing to ascribe psychological motivations to other adults than we are to children. People are happy to say that a child is "shy" or "jealous" or "grumpy because they are hungry."
It's possible that the construction of adult identity means hiding one's psychological motivations from others, and we learn this from the shame of having adults reduce our needs and desires to something other than our own self-narrative.
This is understandable, but maybe we should be learning the opposite lesson. Every human is a psychological being, and it's actually easier to be empathetic when you're aware of your own motivators and look from them in others.
I’ve learned that being brutally honest with myself and others regarding what I’m feeling and why has been super helpful.
It _does_ run the risk of sounding childish, but thus far I’ve found the open vulnerability more rewarding than punishing.
Identifying when I’m irritable, I’ll say “I’m grumpy, I’m gonna suck to be around, sorry”. Or when the real reason why I don’t want to do something is just because “I’m feeling shy”, etc.
Its hard to break the whole “men should be stoic” expectation but I’ve found people are remarkably understanding when you’re honest about why you’re feeling what you’re feeling.
It is very telling that the only vocabulary that many people (especially men) have to talk about their feelings is childish. As children, parents or other caregivers demand that we express ourselves but they also set the constraints for what valid expression is. Those constraints might be something as simple yet ultimately toxic as, "I care about how you feel, unless it makes my life more complicated, in which case shut up." Or my favorite (for personal reasons), "Tell me how you feel but if you say anything other than that you're content I'll panic and start flailing."
Kids learn soon enough what the real boundaries of their emotional life are. As a little boy, I was told that it was weak to cry if I lost a Karate match but as long as I lied and said it was because I got punched really hard, it was OK. I'm not sure what the ultimate goal is of this kind of socially engineered lack of self-awareness, but it doesn't seem to be working. At least not for me.
>I was told that it was weak to cry if I lost a Karate match but as long as I lied and said it was because I got punched really hard, it was OK. I'm not sure what the ultimate goal is of this kind of socially engineered lack of self-awareness
Learning contains much failure, and being able to better control your own emotional state in the presence of these many every-day failures makes further progress faster, easier, and more pleasant for everyone?
I think learning not to cry after every failure is an important life lesson... if crying were an impediment to success. There are many great athletes that are criers. I don't think the lesson they had to learn was not to feel bad when they lost.
Meanwhile, what did I do? I learned to stop crying by quitting Karate. I didn't actually learn to process my feelings. I just learned how to either repress them, avoid them, or lie about them.
That's not control, because all of that was accomplished subconsciously. Control relies on self-awareness. And repression isn't pleasant, certainly not in the long run.
I'm not trying to get all touchy-feely here. I think self-awareness about one's emotional state is a vital survival strategy.
I don't know, I'm not a psychologist. I just know that, from my own experience, there's a spectrum of coping mechanisms I've got when it comes to negative emotions and the ones that work the best tend to be more holistic, including physiological stuff like deep breathing, talking with a close friend, etc.
That isn't to say that some negative emotions are better ignored, but I have a pretty strong inclination to avoidance over confrontation, and it's hard to know if I'm ignoring something that isn't worth my time or unable to confront something that's going to fester.
I think it's ultimately all about efficacy. I've interacted with a lot of people who believe themselves to be totally regulated and are actually seething with resentment. Some of those people are in my family. I know I don't want to live like that. I'd like to think I've got a better model, but only time will tell.
I guess I just find the whole human emotional landscape to be extremely complex and nuanced, and most of the people who I meet who believe that all negative emotions can be regulated away are just pathologically unselfaware. If the alternative is navel gazing, I'll take it.
I'm a mature woman, older than most of my colleagues. And I do this. I have reached an age where I don't care if it sounds childish. If I'm grumpy, I say so. It has nothing to do (usually) with my colleagues, and I like them to know that if I seem snippy, it's me, not them. Sure we can all try to not be mean or rude or whatever, but everyone is human. My teammates are encouraged to also just be real people - if you're grumpy or tired or whatever, just say so.
I have to say that our team is amazing and all get on well together, so likely this vulnerability is easier on us because of that. The men on my team are just as quick to share their feelings too. It's really quite nice.
I think the author is on to something. We are far less willing to ascribe psychological motivations to other adults than we are to children. People are happy to say that a child is "shy" or "jealous" or "grumpy because they are hungry."
It's possible that the construction of adult identity means hiding one's psychological motivations from others, and we learn this from the shame of having adults reduce our needs and desires to something other than our own self-narrative.
This is understandable, but maybe we should be learning the opposite lesson. Every human is a psychological being, and it's actually easier to be empathetic when you're aware of your own motivators and look from them in others.