The Ups and Downs of Feeling More

"Your emotions make you human. Even the unpleasant ones have a purpose.
Don't lock them away. If you ignore them, they just get louder and angrier." ~ Sabaa Tahir

The familiar whirlwind of boxes and the echo of footsteps on empty floors... moving house. Again.

I've lived in almost as many houses as I've been alive - I'll let you try to do the maths there. So in many ways, moving was completely unremarkable. Tiring, sweaty but just another move.

I've always prided myself on being exceptionally skilled at adapting to change. I believed that it didn't faze me at all. I had to. That many moves, especially as a child and then through my own military career, meant there wasn't time or space for feeling unsettled or lost in a new school or a new town.

But during this move, I became acutely aware of how stressed, anxious, and unsettled I felt. I didn't want to go back to work the next day. I felt a deep craving for slowness and some space to adjust. It felt pretty horrible, even as my partner was excited to be somewhere new.

I'm referring to this as "The Downside of Feeling More." The more somatic and embodied practices I engage in, the more connected I become to my feelings and experiences. So far, so good. That's what we all want, right?

Paradoxically, this has unearthed things that don't necessarily align with me, challenging my belief in my own adaptability. It turns out I'm more sensitive to the impact that change has on my nervous system than I thought.

That doesn't make me weak. It makes me human. Human nervous systems seem to thrive on familiarity and we often find safety in the things we know, even if those things are uncomfortable or even painful. When our environment is disrupted, even if we do that intentionally, it can take our bodies some time to process the change.

Now, of course, the upside of feeling more is that I can now acknowledge these emotions and support myself in processing them. The beauty in feeling more is that they don't have to be daunting or disruptive; they are valid facets of my experience. In fact, they're giving me really important feedback and information about what I need. And because of the practices I have, I can meet myself with more grace and compassion in the discomfort.

What I've been left with are some pieces of my identity that don't seem to fit anymore. It's deeply unsettling to realise that the parts of my identity I clung to for safety and solace in the face of change might not be true. It begs the question: who am I, if not that person? But that's a conversation for another time.

Feeling more means, well, feeling more - even the stuff I'd rather not. However, in the grander scheme of things, it's what I want. Feeling more allows me to take better care of myself and expands my capacity to experience the good stuff too. I don't want to numb out to myself and to life and it's not always an easy path.

What have been the unexpected consequences of feeling more? I'd love to hear your experiences.