Sometimes the complaint is the answer, but it can devolve into an emotional stink that drives people off. I know, because I’ve been so wounded from losing my family that I had to talk out my pain. I was afraid I’d burn up if I didn’t talk and talk.
But venting was like throwing pine branches across the flame. It got prettier, more elaborate, but burned hotter. My friends stopped calling. My husband threw up a wall. The fire popped and crackled, smelled acrid.
Then I discovered The Artist Way, which suggested I write three pages every morning. When the emotions flared, I opened my journal. Eventually, writing the drama became too much trouble. I felt like the word “Ugh” sounds. I learned to avoid the angry place, the complaint.
Some therapists might say I was burying trouble that would explode; but, no, that’s not it. I simply didn’t want to take the trouble to write out the drama swirling in my mind, so I didn’t let it swirl. There were no explosions. The fire died down.
During this time I read about how our brains are plastic, how we can retrain the way we think and, by gosh, I saw this in how I stopped obsessing, how my thoughts cleared, how I could finally listen to others telling me their stories.
There’s healing power in the perfect listening of the empty page and power in sitting through the anger, letting it pass.
I’m Katie Andraski, and that’s my perspective.
