On Being Too Much
How can anyone be too much? Too much for whom exactly? That’s the million dollar question, don’t you think? Too much for our parents and teachers most likely.
Too much emotion.
Too much energy.
Too much questioning “why?”.
The adults in our early lives might have been struggling in the role of caregivers as they themselves lacked the resources to meet their own needs, let alone ours. They were possibly (probably?) carrying within them a lifetime of unexpressed emotions, simmering below the surface, and the resulting depletion of life-force energy.
I’ll just speak for myself here and use the first person, although I suspect many of you can relate.
I was too much for my family since their feelings, natural inquisitiveness, and vitality had been squashed when they were children because it was too much for the adults trying to shape them. So those who were raising me had themselves been raised to be uncomfortable with big and chaotic emotions and anything that threatened the illusion of serenity.
In short, it wasn’t me; it was them. My youthful exuberance was more than they could handle.
And still… I got the message loud and clear: parts of me are not welcome here and disturb the people I rely on for supper, so I’d better shut that shit down fast. That message was delivered at a time when I had not yet developed the cognitive capacity to question it and therefore it was accepted as absolute truth.
But it was them, not me.
Eventually, I began to suspect this.
Later in life I got a taste of empowerment and began to spread my wings in this cramped cage, demanding the expression of my messy self without any awareness of the consequences or how such expression is ideally shared in an agreed upon container and in a reciprocal fashion.
I just blurted it out when the pressure increased, inappropriately dumping decades of pent up festering gunk on the poor barista or housemate who had the misfortune of asking “how’s your day?“ on a very bad day.
(Ideally this explosive phase is just a rest stop along the way to maturing our capacity to hold ourselves in the full array of feelings and sharing them responsibly and respectfully with those who are willing participants.)
When self-consciousness descended, I sensed that this explosive behavior was indeed too much, although it was really just not the right time and space for releasing the steam that had accumulated over a lifetime. Shame arose and I mistakenly reinforced the nonsense that emotions are best stuffed down.
(Ideally this self-censorship phase is just a brief backtrack on the journey as we develop our skills and assemble a team of willing listeners.)
What’s missing in this all or nothing scenario is the middle ground in which we take responsibility for witnessing our own feelings as well as the impact of sharing them. Preferably, we begin to recognize that we can’t expect any one person to save us from our uncomfortable emotions and that just trying to dump them like a nuclear hot potato on anyone who stands still long enough is not fair.
Somewhere in between suppressing all emotions and flinging them about recklessly is a place where everyone’s feelings matter and people take turns sharing and listening.
Here’s the problem. Very few people know how to listen. Or even want to listen. It’s a pretty messed up dynamic with so many wanting to be heard and yet not seeming to understand that someone needs to do the actual hearing in order for that to happen.
A lot of self-help books promote therapy as the only solution without seeming to understand that this isn’t an option for a lot of people. It isn’t for me, so I’ve found alternative pathways.
So here’s what you can try.
Know that there’s nothing wrong with your feelings. They may not have been cherished in the past, but it’s never too late to turn that boat around.
Recognize that these emotions may have been accumulating in the shadows, distorted by the sense that they needed to be kept secret and silent, and are now possibly mired in shame.
Accept that nobody can save you from this potentially toxic stockpile of shame, sadness, fear, and anger and that if you want to reclaim your life-force energy, you’re going to need to take charge of the transformation. Divine support is available, but waits for you to choose your own course.
Enlist one trusted friend who can zip it up (meaning, keep their mouth shut!) for five minutes at a time and take turns witnessing each other. First create an agreement to listen without intent to respond, to say “thank you” and NOTHING else after the speaker’s time is up, and let what happens in the “Zip Up” remain in the Zip Up. Then find time to do this consistently.
Learn to stay present with yourself, even when it’s uncomfortable. Also learn where your edges are and how to distract yourself with benign activities so that you don’t go into overwhelm. This is essentially my life’s work and it all centers around a daily practice of cultivating presence and a felt sense of safety while being open to receiving support.
Most importantly, allow yourself to feel your feelings when they arise. I don’t mean to analyze them, figure them out, try to fix or abolish them. Nope. Feel them. Weep or thrash or cackle. Let that energy flow!
Today, melancholy is my uninvited guest. I’m not sure where it came from or how long it will stay. It doesn’t matter. I’m just feeling melancholy. I don’t need to tell everyone or even anyone, I don’t need to try to spread it around, and I also don’t have to hide it and try to be something I’m not. This is much easier after having done a fair amount of cleaning out the archives with a Zip Up partner, uncensored daily journaling, and practices like I share in The Toolshed.
(P.S. I wrote that last paragraph yesterday and while reading it today had already forgotten that I had been feeling that way. I’ve long since moved on. When emotions can flow, they rarely linger. I hope this is encouraging!)
It only feels like too much when I try to hold it in and the stuffed emotions reach critical mass. For those who are engaged in psychospiritual and embodiment work, there is no too much emotion.
Just like there is no “not enough”. More on that next week.
A Soul’s Journey is fueled by reader support and cacao. If you enjoyed this article, it would mean a lot to me if you liked or shared it, offered a comment, or subscribed. You can also make a one-off donation by “buying me a coffee” if you’re not up for becoming a subscriber yet.