you are not who you once were.

People often believe, in my experience, that they can think their way through any mental hurdle — that, with enough education, context, and rational thought, they simple won’t have to suffer the complexities of their brain.

Take it from a psychologist: that ain’t it.

You know, for someone who is so often in their feelings, I am remarkably adept at rationalizing. My brain seems absolutely convinced that if I think hard enough about a problem, I will solve it, as if it’s an equation and not the trademark of human existence.

“I know this, but I feel that.”

I cannot tell you how many times I have spoken some iteration of those words.

“I know there’s nothing more I can do, but I feel like I’m not doing enough.”

“I know I made the best decision I could with the information I had, but I can’t manage to forgive myself.”

There are as many shades to this sentiment as their are colors in a sunrise.

It is often a long and arduous journey towards understanding — towards actually knowing that we are, in fact, doing enough; or that we did indeed make the best decision we could. Once we get there, it’s tempting to think the journey is done. “Great, now that I understand the error of my ways, I can simply overcome it.”

Let me explain to you why that’s not the case.

(Actually, there are many reasons and perspectives on why that is not the case, but I will explain the framework I most enjoy.)

As humans, when we experience suffering, we can often find some part of ourselves “stuck” in that point in time. While the rest of our “Self” moves on, some little piece of us is left behind, forever trapped in that time. We do not process the experience, and thus the memories are abandoned in the state we left them, like someone who leaves the bedroom of a lost loved one untouched.

As such, the learnings we develop later in life are not applied to that moment. We do not reconcile that experience. The bedroom door remains shut, forever trapped in a little time capsule.

In order to heal from that wound, we need to use language and a framework that would have made sense to that earlier self. To get ourselves to open that door, we need to give ourselves what we needed at that time.

Children generally do not respond to a logical debate. People in acute distress typically can’t process a well-articulated argument. For children, their prefrontal cortex simply isn’t developed enough yet. For those in acute distress, our evolutionary biology has assured that blood flow is prioritized to the more primal parts of our brain, leaving our executive functioning a bit underfed. Trying to implement reason in those situations can feel frustrating, even outright maddening. Logical thought simply doesn’t land the way our wiser selves think it should.

I have been in the therapy room, recalling a traumatic event, fully aware of where I am; and yet witnessed my body utterly destabilize as if the event were actively taking place. It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t logical. But it made sense, because I needed to relieve the pressure cooker. To move on, I needed to give myself permission to express the things I was never able to. That’s what opened the door and ultimately allowed me to move on.

So, the next time you start berating yourself for your irrational approach to stress management, remember this: you are not who you once were. Meet your former self where they’re at. Maybe even allow yourself to feel that irrational feeling. The results might surprise you.

(Note: If this topic interests you, The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk is an absolute staple).

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