The Art of Detachment with Love

Posted on by helpingsoul
Your heart must become a sea of love. Your mind must become a river of detachment.

How to Stay Close to the People You Love Without Losing Yourself in Their Pain

A substantial revision of an earlier 2014 post. The clinical understanding has deepened in the intervening years, and the language has become more compassionate. This refresh reflects what I have learned since then.

In my therapy practice, I sit with the same pattern across many different lives. The adult daughter who cannot sleep when her elderly mother is having a difficult week. The partner who feels physically ill when their loved one is upset, even if the upset has nothing to do with them. The friend who cannot say no to requests, even when saying yes will cost her significantly. The father who feels personally responsible for his grown child’s choices, decades after the child became an adult. The colleague who absorbs the moods of everyone around her until she cannot find her own state under the accumulated weight of theirs.

These people are not selfish. They are not weak. They are not, as the older recovery literature sometimes framed it, sick with a disease called codependency. They are people whose nervous systems learned, early in life and for excellent reasons, that the only way to stay safe was to track everyone else’s emotional weather and respond to it before being asked. They are adults still running the system they built as children. The system kept them safe then. It is costing them now.

The work of detachment with love is the slow unwinding of this system. Not the elimination of caring. Not the building of walls. Not the cold disinterest the word detachment sometimes suggests. Something different. Something more nuanced. The capacity to stay present with the people you love, including their pain and their difficulty, without your own system collapsing into theirs. The capacity to care without absorbing. The capacity to remain yourself in the presence of someone else’s distress.

This is not easy work. It is also one of the most important capacities an adult can build, both for themselves and for the people they love. Loving from a place of separateness is more powerful than loving from a place of fusion. The fused love is exhausting. The separate love endures.

What the original language got wrong, and what is more accurate now

In 2014, when I first wrote about this topic, the prevailing framework was codependency. The word came from the recovery movement and was used to describe people who had become overly enmeshed with the lives and struggles of others, often originating in families where addiction or other dysfunction made the child responsible for managing the adults’ emotional states. The word was useful for naming a real pattern, and it gave many people a starting point for recognizing themselves.

It also carried, baked into its medical-sounding formality, an implicit shaming. To be codependent was to be sick. The pattern was a disease. The behavior was a defect to be cured. Many people doing genuine recovery work spent years carrying the felt sense that something was fundamentally wrong with them, when what was actually true is that they had developed an intelligent adaptation to impossible circumstances.

Current clinical understanding has moved away from the disease framing and toward something more compassionate. The behaviors that the older literature called codependency are increasingly understood as fawn-response adaptations, attachment patterns developed in response to relational instability, or somatic survival strategies that emerged when other forms of safety were unavailable. None of these terms is perfect. All of them carry more dignity than the older framing did.

Pete Walker, a therapist whose work on complex trauma has influenced contemporary understanding, identifies the fawn response as one of four primary survival adaptations alongside fight, flight, and freeze. The fawn response is what happens when a child learns that pleasing the caregiver and managing the caregiver’s emotional state is the most reliable route to safety. The behavior is not pathological. It is a smart strategy for a system trying to survive. As adults, people who learned the fawn response continue to run it long after the original conditions have changed. They please. They manage. They absorb. They take responsibility for the emotional states of others because that is what their nervous systems learned, decades ago, was necessary.

Pia Mellody, another clinician whose foundational work in this area still holds up, describes how the early experience of being made responsible for the parent’s well-being prevents the child from developing a clear sense of self. The boundary between self and other never gets fully established. As an adult, the person continues to experience other people’s feelings as their own responsibility. The work is the slow building of the self that was not allowed to fully form.

These newer framings are not just gentler language for the same diagnosis. They are more accurate to what is actually happening. The behavior is not a disease. It is a survival adaptation that worked then and is no longer needed now. The work is not to be cured. The work is to update the system, slowly, with patience, so that the adult can choose freely rather than reflexively follow the pattern.

What detachment with love actually looks like

Detachment with love is not coldness. It is not the building of walls. It is not the decision to stop caring. It is something much more subtle and much more difficult.

Detachment with love is the capacity to remain in your own body while you witness someone else’s pain. To feel compassion without taking on the felt sense of their distress as if it were your own to fix. To recognize that another person’s emotional state is not actually your responsibility to manage, even when your nervous system has been trained for decades to believe it is.

It looks like the daughter who can hear that her mother is struggling without immediately rearranging her own day to respond. The mother is struggling. The mother is also an adult with her own resources, her own support systems, her own capacity to navigate difficulty. The daughter can care. She can call. She can offer support if it is wanted. And she can also recognize that her own life is not on hold until her mother feels better.

It looks like the partner who can sit with their loved one’s hard day without absorbing the emotional weather and carrying it themselves into the next several hours. The loved one is allowed to have a hard day. The partner can be present, supportive, attentive. And the partner can also remain themselves, with their own state intact, even as they extend genuine care.

It looks like the friend who can say no to a request without rehearsing the response for an hour and feeling guilty afterward for half a day. The friend can have legitimate limits. The other person can be disappointed. The friendship survives the no. This is what mature friendship actually requires.

It looks like the father who recognizes that his grown child’s choices are the grown child’s to make. He can express concern. He can offer perspective if asked. He cannot live the life that is not his to live. The child becomes more capable, not less, when the father stops trying to live it for them.

Why this is hard

If detachment with love sounds simple in principle, anyone who has tried to do it knows it is profoundly difficult in practice. Several things make it hard.

The nervous system runs the old program faster than the conscious mind can override it. By the time you have noticed that you are absorbing the other person’s distress, your body has already done it. The breath has shortened. The chest has tightened. The internal weather has shifted. Updating this pattern is not a cognitive exercise. It is somatic work, done over time, with patience.

The relationships you are in have often been built on the old pattern. If you have been the over-functioning caretaker for years, the people around you may have come to depend on that role. When you begin to detach with love, the system around you may not initially welcome the change. There can be pushback. There can be guilt. The people who have been benefiting from your fused availability may not enjoy your separateness. This is not evidence that you are doing something wrong. It is evidence that the system was unbalanced and is now finding a new balance.

Guilt arrives as you begin to do this work. Sometimes overwhelming guilt. The voice that says you are being selfish, that you are abandoning the people you love, that genuine love would require you to keep absorbing. The guilt is the somatic signature of the old pattern protesting the change. It is not accurate information. It is the old nervous system’s report that the new behavior is unfamiliar. Over time, with consistent practice, the guilt softens.

And the practice itself requires staying present in your body in the moments when you would previously have left it. The body that has spent decades absorbing other people’s emotional weather has not built much capacity for remaining steady in difficult moments. The capacity has to be built. The work is slow. It is also genuinely possible.

What helps

Several things help in the work of building the capacity for detachment with love.

Therapy that explicitly addresses the underlying pattern. EMDR for the unprocessed early experiences that calibrated the system. Somatic work for the body-based components of the pattern. Internal Family Systems for the parts work that often surfaces — the part of you that has been the caretaker, the part that needs to feel needed, the part that fears abandonment if you stop fusing. Attachment-focused therapy for the relational template that filters all current relationships through old learnings.

Twelve-step support remains genuinely valuable for many people, even with the older language. Codependents Anonymous and Adult Children of Alcoholics offer community, regular meeting structure, and a path that has worked for many people over decades. If the language of these programs sometimes lands as harsh, you can hold the language lightly while still benefiting from the community and the practice. The community is the medicine. The exact vocabulary used to describe the work is less important than the showing up.

Reading current literature in the trauma-informed space gives you frameworks that match what you are actually experiencing. Pete Walker’s Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving is a foundational text. Pia Mellody’s Facing Codependence still holds up despite the dated title. Richard Schwartz’s work on Internal Family Systems gives you the parts framework. Bessel van der Kolk’s The Body Keeps the Score for the somatic dimensions.

Practice in small daily moments. The slow building of capacity does not happen during dramatic events. It happens in the small choices. The pause before you respond to the text that has activated you. The breath you take before answering the call from the person who tends to overwhelm. The deliberate noticing of your own internal state in the presence of someone else’s distress. Each small moment is a repetition. The repetitions accumulate. Over months and years, the capacity becomes available.

And the recognition that this is a lifelong practice, not a destination. People who have done this work for decades still sometimes notice themselves slipping into the old pattern. The work is not to eliminate the slip. The work is to notice it more quickly, return to yourself more gracefully, and continue the practice. This is true for me. It will be true for you.

A closing thought

Detachment with love is not the opposite of love. It is what love looks like when it has matured into something the giver can sustain over time. The fused love that absorbs the beloved’s pain as if it were its own runs out. The separate love that cares deeply while remaining itself can continue indefinitely.

The people in your life do not need you to lose yourself in their difficulty. They need you to remain yourself, fully present, while they navigate their own. The presence of a steady, loving, separate other is more useful than the presence of someone who has fused with them. Your separateness is, in some ways, the gift you offer. The ability to remain yourself in their presence gives them the felt sense of being met by an actual other, not by an extension of themselves.

If you recognize yourself in the patterns described here, the work is real and it is worth doing. The pattern was an intelligent adaptation to conditions that required it. The conditions have changed. You can change with them, slowly, gently, with the patience the work deserves. And the love you bring to the people in your life can become deeper and more sustainable as you do.

Further reading: Pete Walker, Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving. Pia Mellody, Facing Codependence. Richard Schwartz, No Bad Parts. Bessel van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score. Codependents Anonymous and Adult Children of Alcoholics offer twelve-step support for this work.

April Wright, MA, LMFT is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist in California and Florida. She blogs about attachment, healing, and the courageous arts of becoming oneself at courageous-arts.com and sees clients at thecourageousself.com.

The Four Taboos of Communication, Rule Two: Stop Demanding. Start Requesting. The Difference Changes Everything.

Posted on by helpingsoul

This essay is a revisit of an older post on the four taboos of communication. The original list was useful. This version develops the second rule — no demanding — with what years of clinical work have taught me about why demands fail and what works instead.

Years ago, I wrote a series on this blog about what I came to call the four taboos of communication — four patterns of speech that consistently produce bad outcomes in close relationships. Rule one was no name-calling. Rule two was no demanding. Rule three was no past-baiting. Rule four was no threatening. The series did well at the time and continues to be one of the most-read parts of this blog.

This essay is a revisit of rule two, no demanding, because that one in particular has continued to develop in my clinical work over the years. The original framing was correct — demands undermine connection — but the full picture of why this is true, and what to do instead, has become clearer to me with more clinical experience. This piece is that expanded picture.

What a demand actually is

Most of us did not learn the difference between a demand and a request growing up, because most of us grew up in households where the language was used interchangeably. A demand and a request can sound similar on the surface. Both involve one person asking another for something. The difference is what is implied if the other person says no.

A request says: I am asking you for this. If you say no, that is information about what you can offer, and we will figure out what to do from there.

A demand says: I am asking you for this, and there will be consequences if you do not give it to me. The consequences may not be named, but they are present in the tone, the body language, the felt sense of being pressured. The other person is not free to say no without paying a price.

This is the part most people miss. Demands are not always loud. They are not always angry. They can be delivered in the most reasonable voice. What makes them demands is not the volume but the implied threat of relational consequence if the other person does not comply.

Why demands fail

In close relationships, demands consistently produce the opposite of what the demanding person wants. This is not a personality issue or a communication preference. It is the way nervous systems respond to felt pressure.

When the other person experiences your demand — whether or not you intended it as one — their nervous system goes into some form of protective response. Fight. Flight. Freeze. Fawn. None of these states is conducive to genuine cooperation. Even if the other person complies with the demand, the compliance is shaped by protection rather than by genuine willingness. They give you what you asked for and they feel less safe with you afterward.

This is why so many couples find themselves in a pattern where one person feels they have to demand things to get them done, and the other person feels increasingly resistant to doing the things even when they would have been willing to do them without the demand. The demand itself produces the resistance. Removing the demand often produces the cooperation that the demand was trying to force.

The deeper damage is to the relationship itself. Demands accumulate. Each one teaches the other person that being in relationship with you involves periodic pressure to comply, that their no will be received as a problem rather than as information. Over time, this changes what kind of relationship is possible. The person on the receiving end of demands becomes either reactive (a demander themselves) or quietly absent (going through the motions while their inner life withdraws to where it cannot be reached). Neither is what the demanding person was hoping for.

Why we demand

Understanding why we demand is essential to changing the pattern. People do not demand because they are bad communicators. They demand because the demand is doing something for them — usually managing an underlying anxiety or unmet need that feels too vulnerable to name directly.

The husband who demands that the dishes be done a certain way is often, underneath the demand, expressing an anxiety about household order that he learned in a childhood where chaos felt unsafe. The wife who demands that her partner respond to her texts within a specific time frame is often, underneath the demand, expressing an attachment anxiety about being forgotten or unimportant. The parent who demands that the adult child call more often is often, underneath the demand, expressing a fear of being left behind as the child builds their own life.

None of these underlying needs is wrong. All of them deserve attention. But they cannot be met through demands, because demands hide what is actually going on. The husband saying you never do the dishes right is not actually communicating his anxiety about order. He is delivering a command that the other person experiences as pressure. The conversation about what is actually underneath never happens, and the pattern repeats.

What to do instead

The alternative to demanding is requesting — and requesting well is more skillful than it sounds. Several elements distinguish a real request from a softened demand.

First, name what you want clearly and concisely. Vague requests invite vague responses. Be specific about what you are asking for.

Second, name why it matters to you. Not as justification or as pressure, but as honest information. The vulnerability of saying I am asking for this because it matters to me invites the other person into your inner world rather than positioning them as someone to be managed.

Third, make space for the other person’s no. This is the heart of it. A real request includes genuine willingness to hear no. If you cannot tolerate the no, you are making a demand, not a request, no matter how polite the words sound.

Fourth, regulate yourself before you ask. Many requests come out as demands because the asker is activated when they ask. The same words delivered from a regulated state and from an activated state land completely differently. Take three slow breaths before you start. Notice your own tension. The body of the asker shapes what the asker is actually asking for, regardless of what the words appear to say.

Fifth, follow up with curiosity rather than judgment. If the other person says no, ask why. Not as challenge but as genuine interest in their experience. Their no contains information about them, about the situation, about what might be possible. Receiving the no with curiosity often opens a different conversation than the original request anticipated, and that conversation is frequently where real solutions emerge.

A concrete example

Imagine you have been doing more of the household labor than feels fair. You want your partner to take on more. There is a demand version of this conversation and a request version.

Demand version. *You never help around the house. I do everything. You need to start doing more.*

This is delivered in a tone of frustration. It positions the other person as a failure. It includes the implied threat that if they do not start doing more, the frustration will continue or escalate. The other person hears the demand, their nervous system activates, and they either defend themselves, withdraw, or comply resentfully. None of these outcomes produces a real shift.

Request version. *I have been feeling overwhelmed by how much household labor I am doing. I would like us to look together at what each of us is currently doing and see if there is a way to redistribute it that feels more sustainable for me. Are you willing to have that conversation?*

This is delivered in a regulated tone. It names what is happening for you without blame. It invites the other person into collaboration rather than positioning them as someone to be corrected. It explicitly asks whether they are willing to engage, which honors their autonomy. The other person can say yes, and a real conversation begins. They can say not right now, which gives you information about their state. They can say no, which gives you information about something deeper in the relationship that needs attention.

Every one of these outcomes is more useful than the resentful compliance the demand version would have produced.

The deeper invitation

Learning to make real requests instead of demands is one of the most consequential skills in any close relationship. It is also, for many of us, genuinely hard, because the patterns we learned in childhood often included demands disguised as expectations, and we may not have grown up seeing what a real request looks like.

The work is gradual. Notice when you are about to demand. Pause. Ask yourself what is actually underneath. Make the request from the underneath rather than from the surface. Be willing to hear no.

Over time, your closest relationships will change. The people in your life will trust you more, because they will learn that their no is genuinely received rather than punished. They will offer more freely, because they are not constantly defending against pressure. The cooperation you wanted will arrive — not because you forced it, but because you stopped making it the thing that had to be forced.

This is rule two. Stop demanding. Start requesting. The difference, in close relationships, is not subtle. It is everything.

For the clinical perspective on why demands trigger nervous system responses and what real requests do differently, see the companion piece at thecourageousself.com.

April Wright, MA, LMFT is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist in California and Florida. She blogs about attachment, healing, and the courageous arts of becoming oneself at courageous-arts.com and sees clients at thecourageousself.com.

 

Overcoming Defensiveness in Relationships

Posted on by helpingsoul
woman covering her face with her hands

The key to transforming conflict into deeper intimacy

There is a quiet moment in conflict that often goes unnoticed—the moment just before defensiveness takes over.

It’s the split second when you feel exposed, misunderstood, or accused. Your chest tightens. Your thoughts begin to race. And instead of leaning in with curiosity, you instinctively move to protect yourself.

You explain. You justify. You push back.

And just like that, the opportunity for connection disappears.

Many individuals, couples, and families attempt to resolve problems by focusing on feelings. While emotions are essential, they are often misapplied. Not every conflict requires an emotional deep dive—some problems are practical and require clear, logical solutions.

However, when a situation activates something deeper—when it stirs the nervous system in a way that feels disproportionate to the moment—that is when a feelings-based conversation becomes necessary.

Research in interpersonal neurobiology shows that when we perceive threat in relationships, the brain’s alarm system—particularly the amygdala—activates, often bypassing rational thought and moving us into protection rather than connection. At the same time, studies by John Gottman have consistently identified defensiveness as one of the primary predictors of relational breakdown when left unaddressed.

In these moments, we are no longer responding to the present—we are responding from unresolved emotional memory.

This is where emotional communication becomes one of the most powerful tools for building trust and intimacy.

When feelings are understood—both in the present and in their deeper origins—clarity emerges. And from that clarity, meaningful and lasting solutions can be found.

Creating Structure for Safe Communication

For emotional conversations to be productive, they must be structured. Without structure, they quickly become reactive.

One of the most important agreements is assigning roles: the speaker and the listener.

Expressing feelings matters. But listening—truly listening—is what creates transformation.

Healthy conversations require a safe emotional environment grounded in respect, boundaries, and shared agreements.

The Role of the Speaker

The speaker’s role is to describe their internal experience using “I” statements.

This includes:

  • Naming the feeling
  • Connecting it to a specific event
  • Explaining how it impacts your sense of self

For example:

“I felt hurt when you walked away while I was talking and slammed the door.”
“I felt angry when you accused me of something I didn’t do.”
“I felt fearful for your safety when you drove home after working a double shift.”
“I felt disappointed when you canceled our date.”
“I felt frustrated when plans kept changing.”

A more complete expression might sound like:

“I feel hurt when I try to share something important and you look at your phone. It makes me feel like what I’m saying doesn’t matter. I start to feel invisible, small, and unimportant.”

The intention is not to criticize, but to reveal the emotional impact.

From there, the speaker may explore whether the reaction connects to earlier experiences:

“It reminds me of when my father used to yell at me and demand that I explain myself. I would become so scared that my mind went blank. The more he yelled, the more I shut down.”

This reflection helps both partners understand that the reaction is not just about the present—it is about a sensitive neural pathway that has been activated.

The final step is to express a need or request—without turning it into a demand:

“What would help me is if, when I’m sharing something important, you could pause and make eye contact. That would help me feel heard and valued.”

A request is an invitation, not a requirement.

The Role of the Listener

The listener’s role is equally important—and often more difficult.

To listen well requires setting aside your own agenda, thoughts, and reactions in order to fully understand your partner’s experience.

This requires presence, curiosity, and restraint.

A skilled listener reflects and validates:

“It sounds like when I’m distracted while you’re talking, you feel invisible and unimportant. I can understand how that would be hurtful.”

They also deepen understanding through questions:

  • “Can you tell me more?”
  • “When else have you felt this way?”
  • “Does this connect to something from earlier in your life?”

Listening in this way communicates care, respect, and emotional safety.

The listener also helps maintain the integrity of the conversation by recognizing when one of the four taboos of communication emerges:

  1. Criticism
  2. Demanding
  3. Defensiveness
  4. Angry outbursts

If emotions escalate beyond regulation, a pause is necessary. A time-out is not avoidance—it is emotional responsibility.

Before separating, agree on a specific time to return to the conversation. Even if you are not ready at that moment, returning as agreed builds trust and reinforces a shared commitment to resolution.

Regulating the nervous system—through walking, journaling, breathwork, or reaching out for support—restores clarity and makes reconnection possible.

The Third Taboo: Defensiveness

Defensiveness is a protective response to emotional discomfort.

When we feel criticized, blamed, ashamed, or afraid of being wrong, the nervous system shifts into self-protection.

Instead of listening, we justify, minimize, or counterattack.

Defensiveness often sounds like:

  • “That’s not what happened.”
  • “You’re overreacting.”
  • “You do the same thing.”
  • “I only did that because you…”

While these responses may provide temporary relief, they communicate something deeply invalidating:

“Your feelings are wrong.”

At that point, the conversation shifts from understanding to proving—who is right, who is wrong, and who gets to be heard.

And connection is lost.

In reality, defensiveness is rarely about the present moment alone. It is a shield protecting deeper emotions—pain, shame, guilt, fear, or the vulnerability of feeling inadequate.

Moving Beyond Defensiveness

The antidote to defensiveness is not explanation.

It is emotional honesty.

When you notice yourself becoming defensive, pause and turn inward:

  • What am I feeling right now?
  • What about this feels threatening?
  • What part of me feels exposed?

Then, instead of defending, reveal:

“When you said that, I noticed I became defensive. I think a part of me felt ashamed and worried that I disappointed you.”

This shifts the conversation from conflict to connection…
from protection to vulnerability…
from distance to intimacy.

At the same time, the listener remains grounded—curious, open, and empathetic, even when activated.

With practice, couples begin to understand something profound:

Emotional honesty creates connection. Defensiveness destroys it.

Closing

If your communication patterns often fall into criticism, demands, defensiveness, or uncontrolled anger, you are not alone—and change is possible.

With awareness, structure, and practice, you can learn to communicate in a way that restores safety, deepens trust, and strengthens intimacy.

If you would like support in transforming your relationship, I invite you to reach out and begin a course of action toward building a more connected and secure partnership.

 

 

 

8 Healthy Coping Skills for Strong Emotions

Posted on by helpingsoul

Emotions can be overwhelming. They can make us feel crazy and out of control. They can ruin our relationships and cause tremendous havoc.

There is a better way. Emotions don’t have to rule our world. We can learn to control our emotional state. It begins with understanding what emotions are, where they originate, how they affect us, and healthy ways we can manage them.

What are emotions?

Emotions are not our enemy. They are assets to tap into, nurture and put to good use. Emotions are physiological, cognitive, and behavioral responses to a personally significant event (http://www.apa.org/research/action/glossary.aspx). They are complex patterns of change that protect us from danger, ignite feelings of love, and indicate internal calm. Emotions provide valuable information. All we have to do is stop, notice and listen.

How do emotions function?

Emotions affect our body, mind and behavior. Emotions influence how we communicate and influence others. Emotions manage and motivate action. Emotions bring life and vigor to our thoughts and actions (http://www.dbtselfhelp.com/html/emotion_function.html).

Emotions Assess for Safety

When danger arises, we automatically react with flight, fight or freeze. We flee when we see an exit or an escape. We fight when trapped. We freeze when we have exhausted our efforts to fight or flee

Emotions Influence Memory

Emotions are attached to memories. When current events trigger unresolved past reminiscences, feelings are compiled.   We not only respond to the current event but also the past.

This behavior is typical. Our reaction is signaling that we have past trauma or abuse. We are responding to all the thoughts and feelings aroused by our history ignited in the present.

Knowing this helps to understand our current emotional intensity. With understanding, compassion is possible. We can soothe our thoughts and feelings. Self-compassion is number one for coping with intense emotions.

8 Coping-Skills to Manage Emotions

  1. Self-CompassiHelp to Manage Emotionson

Self-compassion is a matter of relating. When we can relate, understand, and feel the difficulties of another, we can translate the same experience to our self.

Compassion is not about pity. It is a desire to help from a place of kindness and understanding. It is the ability to recognize without judgment or ridicule when others fail, make mistakes, and show imperfections. Compassion recognizes that we all have faults, make slip-ups, and possess limitations. It is part of our shared human experience.

Self-compassion is taking the same attitude toward others and giving it to our self. Just as we listen and empathize with our friend who lost their job, relative who had surgery or stranger homeless on the street, we can transfer those same nurturing thoughts and feelings to our self.

  1. Nurture

We can get out of our head by nurturing and socializing with others. Problems are distracted when we tend to children, friends, and relatives. By occupying our minds and lending a hand to someone else, we help ourselves. What could be more rewarding than that?

Developing and maintaining social alliances lowers stress. When we interact with those we care for, Oxytocin is released.   Oxytocin is a hormone that naturally calms.

Sharing our feelings with those we trust can help to normalize and validate emotions while helping to get out of isolation and see other perspectives.

  1. Notice the Breath

Becoming aware of our breathing helps assess our feelings. For example, when we breathe shallowly we may be feeling anxious. When we are breathing deeply into our abdomen, we may notice we are feeling calm or restful. Observing our breath at the moment gives us indicators as to how we feel.

We have control to deepen and slow down our breath. Paying attention to the location of our full inhale and exhale gives the opportunity to change our state of mind. We can choose to take a deep breath and breathe in our abdomen. Abdomen breathing calms a racing pulse and scattered mind.

Observing the muscles especially around the shoulders, neck and jaw may also give us a gauge into how we are feeling. If our muscles feel tight, we can choose to move around, stretch, and relax any tight areas.

Using our imagination to visualize the tension flowing out with our breath as we relax any tense muscles can have a tremendous effect on our mood.

  1. Visualize

Sometimes when we are flooded with feelings, it can be difficult to manage. It may be helpful to think of a calming visualization when we are calm. Thus, we have a tool from our toolbox we can resort to in times of stress.

Here is an idea, try putting emotional pain in a treasure chest. We can bury our treasure chest of emotions for the time being and come back to them when we have time to give them our full attention. It is important to make time for our feelings. They need acknowledgment, validation, and nurture just like a crying child. By tending to our emotions, we are caring for our self.

  1. Take a Break 

Sometimes we just need to pause for a moment. There are times when it is not appropriate or convenient to express intense emotions. During these incidences, it is best to excuse our self for a few minutes.

Try saying, “I need a moment to get my thoughts together. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Make sure to return at the time indicated. Following through with your word ensures trust and reliability.

Taking the time to calm down and compose our thoughts and feelings, gives us a moment to think clearly.   We can then determine the best approach for expressing our self and finding solutions that are agreeable to all.

  1. Write

Writing can be extremely useful. Studies showed that survivors of traumatic events lowered their distress levels significantly by journaling.

Transforming thoughts and feelings ruminating in our mind to paper helps to stop the spiral. When we are in the thick of things, our thoughts manifest and continue in a downward twist. Externalizing them in a journal gives us the opportunity to clarify what we are thinking and feeling. It is valuable to practice self-compassion and validation when writing.

Closing our journal can also be symbolic. We are physically putting away our distressing feelings and letting go from the upsetting event.

  1. Speak Up

It is important to speak up when an issue is bothersome. Otherwise, we build up resentment. Built up anger causes us to lash out and nitpick at the tiniest of incidences.

It is most effective to think about the problem and clarify our position. It is at times like these to step away, breathe, and formulate a plan of action. We are then able to voice our concerns with an even tone and clarity.

Changes in our relationships are a process. It takes time to adjust to a new way of thinking and behaving. Impulsive confrontation never results in positive outcomes. With practice, talking about what bothers us becomes easy.

  1. Feelings are Temporary 

Emotions are like waves in the ocean. They are always moving and changing. It may be helpful to remind our self that we have not always felt this way. This too shall pass.

Think of previous times when intense emotions were felt. Remember that they eventually faded. Knowing they are temporary can help to begin the process to feeling better.

It may be useful to use a visualization of the ocean. Associate each wave with an emotion. Watch how each emotion moves through the continuum of the water, builds with momentum, crashes on the shore, and then washes away into the sand and current.

Taking time to acknowledge what we are feeling and understanding intense emotions are temporary can help calm a turbulent sea.

Managing our emotions becomes easy with practice. If we recognize the full range of feelings from fear, anger, sadness, and depression to happiness, inspiration, peace, and love, we can use them to protect our self and balance negative experiences. We can make the most of our emotions by opening our mind and utilizing healthy ways to manage them. Choosing what techniques work best for us in the situation is optimal.   We can learn to stabilize an out of control state of mind.

Exercise for Thought

Getting to know our emotions helps us to decide how we want to act rather than act. We can learn more about our feelings by keeping an emotion diary. Choose without judgment the strongest, longest lasting or most difficult or painful feelings. Describe the prompting event and the response in body, mind, and behavior.

Finding Love

Posted on by helpingsoul
A new map of the path to intimacy by Ken Page, LCSW

Four Signs That Healthy Love Is On Its Way

How to find love that can last

I’ve found that four conditions often forecast the advent of real and healthy love. Love’s arrival feels like magic; a gift of luck. Yet we can invite that luck by approaching our dating life differently. If these shifts are happening for you, be encouraged. You’re probably well on the way to finding the kind of love that can last.

You lose your taste for “attractions of deprivation”

It’s easy to become attracted to people who can almost commit; people who treat us wonderfully–and then diminish, demean or ignore us. These relationships are usually highly charged and gnawingly addictive. Like a slot machine, they keep us coming back for more. We long to get it right, to get our partner to love us. We struggle to improve ourselves. We play hard to get. We try giving more, or we practice giving less. We try to be funnier, more successful or more in-shape, so that our desired one will finally want us as much as we want them.

At a certain point, (and usually as a result of tremendous pain) we begin to lose our taste for relationships that chip away at our sense of self-worth. We find we just can’t stomach the thought of being hurt like that again. And this is a great thing. When we become less “sticky” to these kinds of attractions, a dead-end era of our dating lives is finally coming to an end. Now, we can begin the real work of intimacy–cultivating our attraction to relationships that feed and nurture us.

Kindness and availability become more important to you

As we lose our taste for attractions of deprivation, we usually experience a temporary void in our dating life. We know we don’t want the pain of past relationships, but nothing else seems as exciting. In time, (and often with guidance) we begin to seek what I call attractions of inspiration.

These attractions are based upon a (basically) consistent quality of shared kindness, generosity, and emotional availability. They often unfold slowly. They get richer as time goes on. They make us feel love, not desperation.

We can measure the very quality of our lives by the relationships of mutual inspiration we’ve cultivated.

The joy we feel in these relationships doesn’t come from conquest or momentary validation, but from an essential quality of contentment we feel with our partners. We don’t feel consistently bigger or smaller than the object of our affections. In some basic way, we feel what the twelve-step programs call “right sized.” But most of us have never been taught that these relationships have a trajectory of their own. They need to be cultivated and nourished in different ways than we might be used to. It may seem that they are not as exciting at first, but in fact, they are much more so.

There is a thrilling risk available to us in these relationships—the risk of revealing our authentic self. If we take that risk with our partners and find that we are accepted and embraced, the erotic and emotional charge of the relationship deepens and intensifies. These are the people who deserve to see the real us: our wild self, our kinky self, our unshared ideas, our tender soul.

And by the way, that’s precisely why these are the scariest relationships of all. Our fear may do anything to save us from the risk of vulnerability. It’s best strategy is to trick us into fleeing by shouting “Next! Back to the hunt!” But if we don’t flee, we may find that the fear passes, and a deeper, more passionate love shows through on the other side.

If you find that you are seeking these relationships and ignoring the thrill of your attractions of deprivation, then celebrate. You’re on the path to a relationship that can sustain a future of love.

You become willing to give up your “flight patterns”

All of us, single or coupled, flee the heat and the risks of true intimacy. All of us. Any single person who wants to find love would do well to become a student of his or her own “flight patterns.” There are so many ways to flee intimacy, even as we seek it:

Staying home and watching TV every night. Surfing the net, instead of going to places where people with shared values can be found. Wasting time on attractions of deprivation. Not being authentic. Chatting online but never taking the steps to meet. Playing it cool. Looking for hookups instead of dates. Drinking too much on our dates.

At a certain point, we really start to mean it in our search for a life-partner. We realize that time is ticking, that we are growing tired of living and sleeping alone (Please note, this isn’t true for everyone. Many of us are quite happy living solo.)

When we’re willing to let go of our flight patterns; when we find ways to meet people who share our values; and when we only have second or third dates with people who hold the promise of becoming attractions of inspiration, then things really begin to change.

You lead with your authentic self.

Leading with your authentic self may seem on the surface like an easy thing, but it’s not. We get most wounded around the places we care the most. These are the parts of us that I call “core gifts.” Because our authentic self is so vulnerable and because most of us have incurred profound wounding around our core gifts, we tend to either suppress them or create air-brushed versions of them for the world to see. But these versions of self lack the vigor, soul and magnetism of our authentic self, so we find we are less successful in attracting the very people who would accept and treasure us for who we are.

I’ve found that the key does not lie in simply accepting our authentic self, in all its humanity. The key lies in treasuring it, in all its timidity, imperfection and excess. We have the right to honor our core gifts, and to only choose people who can do the same.

When we do that in a non-defensive way, our world begins to change. That’s when we somehow find ourselves dating people who accept us for who we are; people who are kind, generous of spirit and available. I can’t explain why this happens, but I’ve see it occur so many times that I’ve come to accept it as a happy truth in the frequently treacherous world of dating.

Instead of helping us embrace our core gifts, the singles world teaches us to dishonor them—in ourselves and in the people we date. Like those ugly fun-house mirrors, the prevailing singles culture flashes distorted, haunting images at us–images of our own flaws and inadequacies and of the inadequacies of the people we date. The solution is not to find our self-esteem within the walls of that hall of mirrors. It is to get out, and to find a better path.