I feel deflated, but that's okay...

The melodrama of managing my own emotions

I woke up with a familiar feeling. Of utter deflation. I felt empty. There was a yearning ache in my belly. As someone who has forever struggled to manage my own emotions and respond to them healthily and proportionately, this is a sensation I find particularly difficult to cope with. I shouldn’t feel like this. It’s like having trapped bubbles of melancholy in my chest. Why. Why do I feel like this?

I had just spent a weekend away with my kids (boys, 5 and 10) and family. They had a great time. I had made many plans for their summer, being unusually organised and thinking well ahead. This is the first summer holidays since their mum and I split, so I wasn’t sharing the responsibility of planning trips and activities but was determined to give them a summer of fun and happy memories.

Well in advance I’d booked things, thought about them carefully, got time off work, daydreamed about them enjoying themselves and envisioned the smiles on their faces. Memories of the times I’d had with my dad when I was their age come to the forefront of my mind, this is the pressure i’d applied to myself, a summer of fun, but also of anxiety as I desperately tried to bring my kids happiness.

Well, mission accomplished. They had a fantastic summer and loved all the things we did together. Everything worked out exactly as I’d hoped. Great, top dadding. So why am I not waking up with a feeling of satisfaction, happily reflecting on summer holidays full of fun, laughs and great memories? Well, I guess, because it’s over. It has come and gone. Just like that. There was the planning and anticipation, then they came to fruition, and because life is fleeting, suddenly I’m looking back on it. It’s over. Despite being very much ready for them to go back to school and a return to the normal routine, for some reason I feel bereft.

That sense of deflation, it’s a feeling I know well. I’m sure most people do. That feeling when something is over. It could be a highly anticipated event like a holiday or wedding or something smaller. I remember as a teenager when my friends and I would make plans to have a sleep over, we’d square it with parents, then get excited for weeks, then comes the weekend and we’d play computer games until our eyes were stinging and have a right laugh, and then it’s come and gone. I’d feel sad and lonely at home afterwards.

For me it has equivalence in adulthood, making plans for a rare get together with friends who live some distance apart. Friends that have a particular kind of chemistry with each other. So, we’d make the plans, then I’m not ashamed to admit I’d get progressively excited in the months of build-up. You know how it goes. The time would come, we’d have a great time and then it was over. My mood would then plummet. Admittedly, this was often aggravated by drug use which simply amplified the feeling of bottoming out emotionally.

It’s normal to feel deflated in such situations, and I guess the trick is to feel it and let it pass. People who know how to manage and respond to their own emotions will do this. It’s not that big a deal, you feel it, understand what it is and where it comes from, and then it passes. Then comes the pleasure of reflecting on happy memories.

If, like me, you have trouble dealing with your own emotions, it can be easier said than done. I’ve allowed it to send me reeling, I’ve tried fend it off with drink, or drugs, or some terrible coping mechanism. Numb the feeling. Escape it. I’ve done that enough times to know how counterproductive it is.

This time, I was determined not to do it. As I said goodbye to my kids when they were handed back to their mum on the doorstep, that sense of deflation became ever more acute. Children are a hell of a distraction, but suddenly I’m left alone and have to face myself and my feelings. Work was something to focus on, but I still felt hollow, and I was all too aware of the risk of what this emotion could trigger. But I don’t want to unravel every time I have to face this kind of feeling, I can’t allow that to happen. It will pass, I tell myself. Just let yourself feel it. Confront it. Think about it. Don’t fear it.

I’m aware, reader, that this is all a bit melodramatic. Christ Ben, you just feel a bit tired and deflated, it’s not the end of the fucking world. I know. This is true. That’s kind of the point. The inability to cope with relatively normal emotional processes. Here I am at age 38 (still, just, 38), post-marriage separation, out of a 20-year relationship, a stray man, and I’m basically taking a beginner’s course on ‘how to manage your emotions’. I’ve started self-reflecting, committing to therapy, trying to anticipate and pre-empt my own emotional responses and potential actions, and learn to cope in a rational and healthy way.

It's very much a work in progress.

At the of the day, I walked to a local pasture and sat on a tree stump by an old mill. I listened to the wind blowing through the trees. Listened to the cheers as runners crossed the finish line in a nearby race. Looked at the cows.

A calming way to end an anxious day.

Surprising how calming it can be to simply sit and gaze into the distance. Listen to the natural ambiance. Look at a tree. I can see people walking their dogs. Joggers. Other people sitting. After taking some photos to capture the moment, I did something I don’t do nearly enough, I put my phone away and sat quietly.

I’ve realised recently that this is something that I don’t do enough anymore, in-fact I actively avoid it. Taking some time to be quiet, no phone, no music, no podcast, no distracting stimulus. So here I am. Just the sun, the sky the wind and my own thoughts. It’s my thoughts that I’m afraid of, because then I might have to confront my feelings. I might have to feel my feelings. I’ve often gone to great lengths to avoid that.

So, I actively acted in opposition to that longstanding instinct. For that bit of time, on that evening, I just sat with my feelings. Let them swirl around in my daft head. Yes, you feel a bit down, but that’s okay, just feel a bit down for a bit. Process it. There’s lots of reasons to feel a bit deflated, reflect on them. The maybe, just maybe, you might reflect on the positives, and move on…

Ooh, hark at me, like a Buddhist monk… For a very short while.

This is my first Substack post, it feels kind of inconsequential and I’m not sure if it will be of interest, but it’s about me having a tiny, tiny moment of emotional progress. Perhaps it means something to someone.

After a while, my mind began to wander. In the distance, Beverley Minster towers over my little town. The kind of spectacularly beautiful and historic building one takes for granted due to familiarity. A moment of quiet reflection can be enough to reignite wonder at such a sight. The site originated from a monastery founded by Saint John of Beverley circa 700 AD. The Minster was built and rebuilt between 1188-1490. People have been sat around here in quiet reflection looking at that magnificent building for centuries. All around me people are living their lives, feeling their own emotions and dealing with their own problems.

That made me feel small and insignificant, in a good way, as my sense of deflation began to feel less important too. My mood lifted somewhat. A felt a degree of inner peace. Sometimes the simple beauty of our surroundings can inspire that if we left them. The Minster was towering over this town long before I was born and will be here long after I’ve gone. There’s something oddly reassuring about it.

I should sustain this feeling, hold on to it, remember it next time I feel down before I look for ways to repress my emptions, I will try, I am trying… Lord knows, I’m trying.

When I walk home, I walk past a big pit near the road surrounded by trees about five minutes’ walk from where I was sat. It’s where I used to skip college and drink with my mates. It certainly brought me out of my melancholic reflections to remember the time I got drank too much far too quickly, like teenagers who don’t actually like the taste of alcohol do. Despite being totally wasted I assured my mates I’d be fine, but found myself unable to stagger home to the other side of the pasture (normally a 10-15 minute walk). To be honest, I didn’t get very far at all before stumbling to the ground and shitting myself wholeheartedly and without restraint.

Oh, the indignity.

No doubt it disturbed someone’s moment of quiet reflection as they came across my soiled boxer shorts that I’d inconsiderately discarded (sorry but what else was I going to do with them?) In the end I called a girl that I was having a bit of a thing with and asked for help (I didn’t mention the shitting myself bit), like an angel she came and drove me home, she told me I smelt ‘funky’, I said i’d stepped in a cow pat… She was always really nice to me, and I was a total dick to her.

Possibly not the way to end this post, but I did have a chuckle to myself, even though 18 year old me was probably binge drinking his feelings away. 20 years later I walk past the same place with a wry smile on my face. Sunrise, sunset.

(My posts will not all be so long, I promise)