Can You Control Your Feelings? And if so, How?

Our brains often receive the dominant spotlight in therapy - there's lots of thinking and talking going on unless we make a conscious effort to pause, slow down, and consider, "What's happening the body?" I love the saying, "Don't believe everything you think." The opposite is largely true for our bodies: they generally don't make things up. Or do they? One thing is clear: the sensation is always real, even when the threat isn't. Much like water, we can do more directing than controlling. Let's jump in.

Ancient bodies, modern problems

We live in ancient bodies that largely haven't adapted to today's world. Our nervous systems react to threat, whether perceived or actual, in the same way. A nasty email or literally running away from a bear can set off a similar response in the brain-body threat-detection system, which centres on the amygdala. You may have heard of the amygdala (fun to say! Less fun to manage!), the little almond-shaped area in our brains. When it detects a threat, it begins a cascade of signals that ultimately floods our system with the hormones it thinks we need to survive (hello, adrenaline and cortisol). This system was shaped at a time when our ancestors' survival was on the line, daily, and it hasn't received any hardware updates; each threat is treated as though our life may be at stake.

When thinking works

The workaround is to catch our thoughts (oof, does it take practice!) and create just enough space to recognize that we are having a thought, instead of being fused to the meaning of that thought. In Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, this skill is called cognitive defusion. Its opposite is cognitive fusion.

Take the nasty email. In a fusion state, my thoughts run amok, fabricate a story, and I'm hurt by the meaning I've attached to it. With defusion, I notice: I'm having the thought that I'm being attacked by this email! I might then realize that an email can't physically attack me, and find a bit of levity. I'm actually totally safe sitting here reading this. No sabre-toothed tiger is on the loose. From there I can get curious: I wonder what's going on for this person? and maybe even coach myself: Take some deep breaths and come back to it when you're ready. There's no rush.

This is top-down processing: the brain sits at the top and tells us what's going on down in the body. It works well for wrangling the amygdala into the present day, where, more often than not, the threats we face are perceived rather than literal. We can think our way to some relief. We can get out of the binary of the amydgala's "on-off"mode, and find our pre-frontal cortex again, which allows for the wise and nuanced thinking we treasure.

What about when thinking doesn't work?

When top-down processing doesn't shift a thing, in comes body-based therapies, such as Somatic Experiencing, which work from the bottom up. The script is flipped: we use the body's sensations and experiences to inform the brain about what's happening.

The deeper parts of the brain that sound the alarm can't speak. Words live in the newer, outer layers of the brain, the parts that plan, reason, and do other things we appreciate. The survival brain communicates in sensation instead: a tight chest, a dropped stomach, a clenched jaw, a sudden urge to leave the room. So when we try to talk ourselves out of a feeling, it's a bit like sending a memo to someone who can't read. The message that actually gets through is a felt one: a slower breath, a softened shoulder, a sense of being safe with another person.

This, too, is an ancient setup, and this time there's no elegant workaround. We can't move past what the body is telling us; the only way to not feel is through some form of avoidance. We might ignore, push down, fake, pretend, deny, and perhaps even accomplish some sort of body-brain divorce.

A growing body of clinical work and research suggests that trauma isn't only a story we remember. It also lives on in the body, particularly in the way our nervous system keeps reacting. This may be why you can talk about something ad nauseam and still find that its intensity hasn't budged. Speaking of divorce, I think of exes who still feel the same wrath toward each -even if it's been decades since separating. Time did nothing, and talking about it likely kept fuelling the fire.

Try listening instead

Next time something hard won't shift, try a different question. Instead of "What do I think about this?" ask "Where do I feel this?" Find the spot where the intensity is highest. If the tightness in your throat could talk, what might it tell you? Is it trying to protect you from something? Stay kind and curious, and see what it has to say.

What often comes next is an emotional release, perhaps tears, but it can be so incredibly hard to get there. Read more on this by clicking the link: Is It Bad I'm Happy When You Cry?

So, can we control what we feel? Not the first part. Emotions simply bubble up. We can't stop them, and we can't pick which ones we get. What we can control is how we meet them. We can soften toward them, we can challenge the thoughts that keep setting off our nervous system, and we can stop ignoring our body's aching desire to be acknowledged.

Want some company while you practise?

If something here landed for you and you'd like support while you learn to listen to your body, I'd love to hear from you. I offer a free 15-minute consult so we can see whether we're a good fit. I work online with folks anywhere in BC and in person in Squamish. Book your free consult here.