No 2 – Thoughts or Feelings – The Powerful Truth About What Comes First

This summer in France I felt mostly like the ideal vacationer: happy, relaxed, energetic, always in a good mood. Not a cloud in sight. No heavy emotions, no draining thoughts.
And I started to feel smug, thinking: Why do other people have so many problems? So much drama? They must be doing something wrong.
Well, I know, I know — I was kind of asking for it.

And the problem — my problem — came faster than I could count to three. It presented itself in the form of my child being unhappy about something. Which, from a distance, is not exactly a problem, even less my problem, but just life: a moment in time, a passing emotion.

But — and I’m sure many mothers know this very well — I jumped on it and made it my own problem. My child, a grown-up of twenty, fully capable of handling his own conflicts, had just shared a thought with me. A fleeting moment that would have resolved itself.

But what did my mum-brain do? It immediately went into a familiar place, a vibration of shame, regret, sadness, helplessness — my negative default setting. And the thoughts came rushing in, almost as if my inner tormentor-in-chiefhad just been waiting for a chance to release them.

Dear reader,

maybe you know this too? Almost out of nowhere, a thought comes up, creating an emotion that calls in more of the same thoughts — a whirlwind of stories clouding your perspective. Or a feeling arises in your body, summoning thoughts to explain its existence.
And suddenly it’s hard to tell: what came first? And is there really proof for any of it? Can I be sure that it is true?

Sometimes it starts with a thought: My colleague doesn’t value my work. And suddenly you feel a deep pang of unworthiness. Or: My partner doesn’t appreciate my share of housework. And instantly a flash of anger surges through you.
The thought — just one of many possible interpretations — calls in a feeling, and the feeling calls in more of the same thoughts.

And sometimes it starts with a feeling, or a body state. You feel a knot in your stomach and start thinking: Something must be wrong. Immediately, all the wrong things in your life line up for inspection.
Or you feel sadness in your body, and instantly sad thoughts arrive to justify it.

So the question is:

How do the stories you tell shape your feelings?
And how do your feelings shape the stories you tell?

My son’s unhappiness was just one of many random events. But the structure is always the same.

The moment the vibration of regret appeared, the sentences gathered like daggers: If only I had helped him more… If only I had pushed him harder…
Creating the illusion that I could have prevented this. That I should have. That I am, eventually, to blame for everything because I am the master creator of all that is wrong in the world. And with that came a dark, misguided sense of power: hypothetical control over the past. And suddenly it all seemed crystal clear: a simple chain of cause and effect, a linear sequence of thoughts tightening the noose of negative reasoning. And all its siblings came rushing in:

Sadness, heavy and dreary, whispering: I am so sad because…
Helplessness, spreading its hopeless fragrance, sighing: I can’t do anything. I just have to suffer.
Shame, hot and itching, hissing: It’s all my fault. I am to blame.

I could almost see the emotions planting their signposts around me, conjuring stories woven from their own vibration.
A real storm of stories, conjured by the mind.

And as I bought into them, the emotions deepened, the noose tightened. Threads of shame, sadness, regret, and helplessness layered heavily onto my skin. Tears rising, speech breaking, fragments of stories spilling out loud. A maddening dance of emotions and thought. A perfect storm.

But deep down, in the middle of that storm, there was silence. At first I barely noticed. Caught up in the drama, I heard nothing but the howling wind. But eventually, the stories began to quiet.

Breathing space opened between their attacks, and in those spaces I dared to ask:

Who is speaking? With what authority? And to whom?

And I started wondering: What if none of this is true?

Like a magic spell, these questions stopped the stories in their tracks. Their voices softened, their fragrances faded like distant memories.

It took a while for the storm to pass. Every now and then a guilt-story would sneak in, trying to raise its voice… but I just looked at it and repeated my questions.

And as the heavy cloud lifted, alternative stories surfaced:
Trust, inviting: I believe in other people’s ability to find their own solutions.
Acceptance, whispering: It is as it is. Always perfect. Nothing needs to be done. The storm was over. A slight dizziness remained. Almost as if it had all been a dream.

Do you recall the last time you were caught in a perfect storm of thoughts and emotions?

How did you find your way out?

Have you ever tried addressing the stories directly and asking:

Who is speaking?

With what authority?

And can I be 100% sure this story is true?