A few weekends ago I was sitting, wrapped in my winter coat, at an outdoor table at a café down the street from me. As I was finishing my coffee, I saw a lanky boy about nine or 10 years old, standing with his father at another table nearby. In fact, I heard his voice first, and it was what he said that made me turn my head to look at him.
They were putting on their coats preparing to leave, and the little boy said to his father: “I’m scared to say this, but I don’t know what you mean by ‘a bit’.” I had no idea what the conversation had been about or what prompted this comment but I was struck by it. The father can’t have heard him at first because the boy repeated the exact sentence again but this time beginning with: “I said . . . ”
After they walked away, I had so many thoughts running through my mind, such as: “Why would the boy be scared to say anything to his father?” or “I wonder what prompted his question?” But what had struck me most was his childlike ability to express his concern, as well as his feelings about that concern.
It immediately made me consider how rarely I hear adults communicate their feelings with such vulnerable but clear intent, even determination. I sat at the table a little longer and tried to think about what experiences or situations were currently happening in my own life that might prompt me to begin a sentence to someone: “I’m scared to say this, but . . . ”
Every one of us has a unique experience of childhood that shapes who we become as adults. I wondered briefly if this little boy would grow up and still have the capacity to express himself openly even when he felt anxious. Most adults are fine sharing emotions such as happiness or gratitude — but, from my experience, we tend to struggle with hard feelings such as loneliness, sadness, fear or anger.
Maybe if we gave more consideration both to what is gained by sharing our feelings more readily and what is lost by withholding them, we might open up space for others in our lives to follow suit. And I suspect that the more we learn to communicate honestly with one another, the better the chances of forging deeper relationships and more fruitful collaborations.
In Van Gogh’s 1890 painting “At Eternity’s Gate”, an old man dressed in blue clothes sits hunched over on a wooden chair by a blazing fireplace. His elbows rest on his lap while his hands, balled into fists, cover his face. He sits alone, his figure large, as if whatever he is feeling takes up the centre of the canvas. It’s normal to assume grief in this painting (the other name for the work is “Sorrowing Old Man”) mostly because I think we’re not taught to consider the nuanced range of feelings we have in connection with core emotions and to identify the specific one we might be experiencing.
Most of us live in cultural environments in which we are rarely encouraged to openly share our true feelings at all — let alone how to communicate those feelings to others. How we navigate our emotions is often influenced by the way we were raised, whether in negative or positive ways, and what we learn as children we carry into adulthood unless, that is, we consciously make the effort to change our patterns of behaviour.
In Valeria Duca’s painting “Locked” (2023), the 29-year-old Moldovan artist depicts a naked woman lying with her upper body hunched over her legs. She clasps two of her fingers behind her back and buries the side of her face into the floor. It is a very vulnerable position and she appears to be trying to contain herself in a way that suggests there are deep emotions at play.
Looking at the painting made me think about how our bodies are repositories for our feelings. We feel our negative emotions physically, even if we’re not used to pinpointing exactly where in our body those emotions are locked or lodged, or what feelings they are generating. One of the big costs of holding them back is that eventually they can manifest as physical discomfort or pain.
It has taken me a few years to learn how to listen to my own body as a way of gauging my emotions, pinpointing my specific feelings and then knowing what to do with them. A few weeks ago, a friend gave me a birthday gift that has helped me to practise this at a deeper level.
The gift was just a package of two decks of cards, each containing 62 word cards, a pink-coloured deck labelled “feelings” and a blue-coloured deck labelled “needs”. For a week, I began each morning by leafing through both decks of cards, pulling out the words that resonated with me. One particular day I selected “unsettled”, “weary” and “disappointed” from the “feelings” deck; then “rest”, “clarity” and “balance” from the “needs” deck. Placing all the cards on the table helped me be more aware of how I felt.
These cards were inspired by the work of American psychologist and mediator Marshall Rosenberg, who developed the theory of non-violent communication as a means of “giving from the heart”, and of conflict resolution in personal and professional relationships. I think most of us don’t consider our own internal conflicts, and how these too are things to work through. It takes intention and courage to identify what we are feeling because we must then either act on expressing those feelings or knowingly choose the pain of ignoring them.
“Women Outside the Church at Ruokolahti”, an 1887 painting by Finnish artist Albert Edelfelt, made me think of another aspect of how we deal with our feelings and those of others. Here, a group of four women sit in a semi-circle on the grass. Three of them are older in age and seem in closer proximity physically, and they sit higher on the grassy knoll than the fourth woman. She is younger and is positioned slightly off to the side, holding a bundled parcel in her lap. Her gaze is a bit gloomy and is directed away from the older women. Looking at this painting, I started thinking back to that little boy at the coffee shop, and it made me wonder about the people in our lives for whom we may or may not make space for the expression of their feelings.
Part of good communication goes beyond identifying and share what we are experiencing and involves learning to make space for the feelings of others. This does not automatically mean we have to feel responsible for other people’s feelings or for the needs that arise. But being able to hear what other people are going through and empathising where possible is essential to understanding one another. And when we are given safe space to express our feelings, this in turn allows us to feel more valued in our communities and in our relationships, and more likely to collaborate towards peaceful practices and resolutions.
Enuma Okoro is a New York-based columnist for FT Life & Arts
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