I have been blessed with a mother who will do nearly anything to prevent me from feeling sad. While my mother’s deep love has served me in many ways, I’m realizing that, at the age of 44, I’ve never actually learned how to be sad, or how to admit that I’m sad. As a result, I have gravitated toward choosing what I’ve perceived to be the “safe route,” focused more of my attention on mitigating risk rather than maximizing joy, and buried sadness to avoid rocking the boat. In my next chapter, I’d like to change that.
For most of my life, I’ve had a recurring dream that goes like this:
Me: “Mom, I’m sad.”
Mom: “Honey, I hate to see you sad. Can I give you a pill to make you feel better?”
Me: “I think I am supposed to be sad today. I was happy yesterday, and I will be happy tomorrow, but today I am sad.”
Mom: “Oh no, honey. You are never supposed to be sad, not even for a minute. I have pills that will make you happy. Just take this pill and call me anytime you feel sad.”
I think it’s safe to say that this dream is trying to teach me something. This message that I’ve subconsciously received from my mother has been underscored by our keep-your-chin-up culture. I find that even when people are experiencing deep sadness, they tend to share that sentiment with a “but it’s okay” qualifier that goes something like this:
Caring friend: “How are you?”
Sad person: “The love of my life just passed away.”
Caring friend: “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Sad person: “It’s okay, I’m managing. I had 15 good years with him, and I know that all things happen for a reason.”
I have been guilty of following my admissions of sadness with “but it’s okay” qualifiers for most of my life. I’m reluctant to express sadness because I don’t want to be seen as ungrateful for my good fortune. I’m afraid that admitting I’m sad is admitting that I’m weak, or that I’m unable to see silver linings or find opportunities in obstacles. I worry that my admission of sadness will be mistaken for a cry for help when I don’t want or need help, and when I feel certain that allowing myself to be sad is exactly what I need. I worry that others will take on my pain and feel sad themselves. I worry that others will worry about me. I worry that people will take pity on me, and that in turn I will start to take more pity on myself.
However, I’m learning that it is impossible to experience true joy, and especially true love, without sadness. Admitting sadness, full-stop, often requires tremendous strength. Modeling that strength and willingness to admit vulnerability can be a powerful gift to give because it gives others permission to do the same.
