Emotions often get a bad reputation. We talk about them like they’re these big, uncontrollable forces that might swallow us whole if we let them in. But the truth is, emotions themselves aren’t all that terrifying. What really weighs us down are the stories we tell ourselves after the emotion shows up.
Think about it: fear on its own might be a tightening in the chest or a quickening of the breath. Sadness can feel like heaviness in the body, a slow pull of energy. Anger often shows up as a rush of heat. These are just sensations—normal body reactions. And none of them are meant to last forever. The body is designed to feel emotions, process them, and, if we allow it, let them pass.
The real trouble begins when the mind steps in. We feel sad, and suddenly the story becomes, “I’ll always feel this way,”or “Something must be wrong with me,” or “ I can never catch a break or win in life.” We feel anxious, and the thought turns into, “I’m not capable,” or “This means I’m broken.” A single moment of emotion stretches into days or weeks because of the narrative we attach to it. In trying to “make sense” of what we feel, we end up making the emotion bigger and scarier than it really is.
Humans are natural storytellers. We’re wired to create meaning out of everything, including our emotions. And in today’s world, there’s an added pressure to be “emotionally intelligent”. But meaning-making isn’t always helpful. Sometimes it traps us. Instead of letting sadness be sadness or fear be fear, we label it, judge it, and carry it around long after the wave has already moved through. And when our perspectives, beliefs, or value systems are skewed, the stories we create can become distorted too.
But what if emotions were just messengers? A passing note from the body saying, “Hey, pay attention here.” We don’t have to argue with them or spin them into full-blown stories. We can simply notice: “I’m feeling fear. Something feels uncertain.” Or “I’m feeling anger. Something matters to me.” That’s it. No self-criticism, no doom-filled narrative—just presence.
When we stop turning emotions into identities, they lose their edge. They stop being these terrifying shadows and instead become part of the rhythm of being human. A rise, a peak, and a fall—like a wave. And once the wave passes, we’re still standing.
So maybe emotions aren’t the enemy after all. Maybe the scariest part isn’t feeling them, but the stories we’ve been telling about what they mean.
In softness,
Teilor
Notes From Solace 