On Unhappiness
I laid crying on the bathroom floor of my quaint, white walled Amherst apartment.
It was Halloween night, usually my favorite of holidays, and I was immobile. I couldn't make a decision. It started with - what do I wear? And ended with - Do I stand up or keep lying on the floor crying? I was so exhausted from an emotionally abusive job. It broke me to the lowest I'd ever been.
I was unhappy. Unbelievably unhappy.
Not depressed. I've studied a bit on mental health and I understand that depression is about chemical imbalances in your brain. I'm talking about unhappiness. A feeling. A fluid feeling. A feeling that American culture teaches us is bad. We're not suppose to be unhappy. Look at our lives, to be unhappy is to be ungrateful.
So as I laid crying on the floor, I felt guilt. Guilty that I was this upset about a job. All my family and friends were alive. There had been no deaths or illness.
But this guilt is misplaced. The notion that we should not be unhappy is dangerous.
It's okay to be unhappy.
Let me say this again - it's okay to be unhappy.
There. Finally. Out in the open. The idea that it's okay to be unhappy. It's okay to not be okay.
Eleonor, my roommate at the time, taught me that. As I laid on the floor crying. She held me. She told me I could lay there all night and she wouldn't leave my side. She understood my feelings would pass. That I would eventually move on from this state, but in that moment, it was okay. It was okay to be unhappy.
She cried all the time. That was foreign to me. Even as someone with training and knowledge on emotional management and stigmas around showing emotions, I still couldn't help but be taken off guard at how much she cried. How often she showed her emotions. She wasn't an emotional person. She was a person, with emotions. She could go from crying to laughing in five minutes. I loved that about her. It didn't make me feel weird or uncomfortable to console her, because I knew she was fine. She just needed to let out her emotions, and then she'd walk away.
Eventually I stopped crying. I sat up. She had me place my hand in front of my face. Palm wide open.
She said, "Look at your hand." "All you can see right now is your hand, right?" I nodded yes.
She said, "Now lower your hand. You can see things other than your hand, right? A bigger picture now?" I nodded again. She said lovingly, "Your unhappiness is like your hand. Right now, it's all you can see. But eventually, when you're ready, you can choose to lower your hand and see the bigger picture."
To this day, I don't know if Eleonor knows how much she helped me. She was my savior those six months. She taught me that unhappiness is apart of life. You don't have to be happy all the time. You can just be. Whatever that is, in that moment for you. Even in social situations, I don't have to pretend. I can still be unhappy. And it's healthy to recognize that.
If you're reading this Eleonor, I love you. And thank you, pumpkin.
It was Halloween night, usually my favorite of holidays, and I was immobile. I couldn't make a decision. It started with - what do I wear? And ended with - Do I stand up or keep lying on the floor crying? I was so exhausted from an emotionally abusive job. It broke me to the lowest I'd ever been.
I was unhappy. Unbelievably unhappy.
Not depressed. I've studied a bit on mental health and I understand that depression is about chemical imbalances in your brain. I'm talking about unhappiness. A feeling. A fluid feeling. A feeling that American culture teaches us is bad. We're not suppose to be unhappy. Look at our lives, to be unhappy is to be ungrateful.
So as I laid crying on the floor, I felt guilt. Guilty that I was this upset about a job. All my family and friends were alive. There had been no deaths or illness.
But this guilt is misplaced. The notion that we should not be unhappy is dangerous.
It's okay to be unhappy.
Let me say this again - it's okay to be unhappy.
There. Finally. Out in the open. The idea that it's okay to be unhappy. It's okay to not be okay.
Eleonor, my roommate at the time, taught me that. As I laid on the floor crying. She held me. She told me I could lay there all night and she wouldn't leave my side. She understood my feelings would pass. That I would eventually move on from this state, but in that moment, it was okay. It was okay to be unhappy.
She cried all the time. That was foreign to me. Even as someone with training and knowledge on emotional management and stigmas around showing emotions, I still couldn't help but be taken off guard at how much she cried. How often she showed her emotions. She wasn't an emotional person. She was a person, with emotions. She could go from crying to laughing in five minutes. I loved that about her. It didn't make me feel weird or uncomfortable to console her, because I knew she was fine. She just needed to let out her emotions, and then she'd walk away.
Eventually I stopped crying. I sat up. She had me place my hand in front of my face. Palm wide open.
She said, "Look at your hand." "All you can see right now is your hand, right?" I nodded yes.
She said, "Now lower your hand. You can see things other than your hand, right? A bigger picture now?" I nodded again. She said lovingly, "Your unhappiness is like your hand. Right now, it's all you can see. But eventually, when you're ready, you can choose to lower your hand and see the bigger picture."
To this day, I don't know if Eleonor knows how much she helped me. She was my savior those six months. She taught me that unhappiness is apart of life. You don't have to be happy all the time. You can just be. Whatever that is, in that moment for you. Even in social situations, I don't have to pretend. I can still be unhappy. And it's healthy to recognize that.
If you're reading this Eleonor, I love you. And thank you, pumpkin.
Comments
Post a Comment