Last week I heard something quite striking—something I’d not heard before. But I didn’t just hear it once—I heard it twice within several hours.
Two women from two different continents, in different life stages, who would almost definitely be unknown to each other (one was a big name author on a podcast; the other a participant in an online recovery group) were describing what they were feeling and both referred to their difficult emotions as ugly.
The first time I heard it I was alarmed: I’d never heard emotions be labelled ugly. It felt like an unfair judgment to me. And then I wandered through my memory trying to recall if I’d ever called any of my emotions that.
The second time I heard it I was shocked: twice in the one day!
What is going on that people class certain emotions as ugly?
And what is going on for me that I am triggered by this unfortunate label?
I know I have judged myself a gazillion times for feeling certain so-called difficult emotions: a scathing voice will pipe up from within and demand that I stop feeling that feeling1 and list off several reasons why I shouldn’t be feeling that feeling.
And there is no count for the times I found certain difficult emotions to be, well, difficult: hard to admit, hard to experience, hard to show, hard to process—hard to feel.
In fact the fear of feeling, especially feeling what is difficult, painful and hard, is what makes me deny, repress, and dismiss the truth of my being in that moment.
I’m talking about shame, resentment, rage, bitterness — all the unpleasant, unsavoury, unpalatable emotions to feel, admit and witness in ourselves and others.
But I don’t recall ever passing judgment on the way they look or appear—I’ve never thought them ugly.
The dictionary uses words like offensive, hideous, very unattractive, horrible, and revolting as synonyms for ugly. Even fugly was listed.
As you know I’ve written about shame before, and how it took me a while to admit, name and share that what I was feeling was shame. And I think Brene Brown was spot on when she said it is often the fear of shame that scares us more than the shame itself.
I remember what it was like to finally speak shame—I felt liberated. I let down my guard and set it free in the safest way I knew: in words, on paper, in the privacy of my own presence. Then when the urge to share my experience and the healing and freedom and peace it brought me came, I shared it with a trusted loved one, and then you guys here.
But not once did I think it was ugly.
Maybe it’s because of Rumi and his wise and compassionate counsel through his immortal poem, The Guesthouse. A poem I have long treasured and turned to when I have felt overwhelmed with big difficult emotions.
The Guesthouse
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Whenever I read this poem I breathe a sigh of relief—a wave of comfort comes over me and I remember:
I am a human, and being a human means there will be emotions arriving daily, sometimes hourly, and bringing with them gifts that I will never know or understand or receive if I don’t allow them to be what they are and show me what they want me to know.
At the moment I feel like a crowded guesthouse bursting at the seams with visitors. Most of them I expect—I am nursing my eleven and a half year old Spoodle, Harvey, as he deals with a bulging disc. He can’t eat or drink or toilet without my help. And is crate-bound except for the times I am nearby napping or cooking or writing, when I can let him lay on the mat and pretend he is just asleep and not extremely unwell and grossly incapacitated.
Fear, frustration, sadness, powerlessness, anger, denial, overwhelm, worry—even shame for having such feelings—they are all taking up space in the Guesthouse of Gena McLean.
But when I remember why they go quiet and settle in for tea and love joins us the the table.
Because don’t all our emotions have a place—at the table, in our guesthouse?
Aren’t they what make us human?
Not ugly—just humans being human?2
‘that feeling’ refers to any of the more tricky emotions to feel, which for me are, in no particular order: shame, annoyance, anger, resentment, hurt, rage, powerlessness, helplessness.
As I pose that question, I am reminded of a line from Find Your Way. It’s from an entry called Permission to Be on page 129:
To let yourself be human is the greatest gift you can give yourself, especially during upheaval and uncertainty. The acceptance that comes from the permission you give yourself to be as you are and where you are has the capacity to help and heal.
And I have recorded the whole entry for you to hear—you can access it from the bar at the top of this post : )
So lovely to hear your voice again, really needed that today 😘