The Texture of Sadness

when emotion is ripe with potentiality

Do I stay or do I leave?

Currently, there are a noteworthy number of people in my life actively wondering: Do I stay in the job, in the relationship, in the country, in the volunteer position (etc etc) or do I go? Looking back, it has been one of the biggest, most daunting, most important questions for me to navigate, so I am feeling for and with them.

Sometimes there is a clear, right answer, and it is just about getting brave enough to admit it. Other times, there is a tension of goods, or an overwhelm of unknowns, or a plethora of things out of our control that make the discernment extremely complicated.

I tend to stay. I value my endurance and pain tolerance. I have crafted a slew of stories for myself: I believe if I change and do better the situation will improve. I believe if I just stay long enough eventually, I will get what I need. I will be different for being the one who stays. Maybe if I leave no one will replace me. I forget that the door isn’t locked. I have stayed in multiple jobs where the structure is designed for my burnout. I stayed in an abusive relationship. I have stayed in the sauna until I almost fainted. I am good at staying, and it is good for me to tempt leaving and explore it as the brave choice, which will require me to craft new stories where I have needs and deserve care.

My mentors, over the years, have kindly invited me to consider how you leave or stay and why you leave or stay may be as important as if you leave or stay. They have also encouraged me listen to my body in the discernment and take seriously what my body is trying to tell me.

The other day, my friend called me. Her workplace was offering folks severance packages to resign. Although she believed in her work, the work environment had been challenging for a long time. She was considering leaving, and feeling judged by her co-workers, who were all deciding to stay even though the future of their funding was highly unknown. After talking for a while, she said, “When I think about leaving, I get really sad.” She named her sadness as an indication that she should stay.

Emotions in our bodies are good sources of information. She could stay on the surface of the emotion and think, “Sadness is bad and should be avoided, so I should stay.” Or she could sit with the sadness and explore it deeper for more information.

I asked her questions like: What is the texture of the sadness? If you were to give the sadness a microphone, what would it say? Do you sense potentiality in the sadness? Is it generative? Is there energy in the sadness you can work with?

Just because the thought of leaving made her sad doesn’t mean it’s the wrong decision. She, like me, tends to stay, so I invited her to also explore the sadness that would come with staying in the job with the grueling pace and hours, the lack of healthy communication, and the wild unknowns of her future. What is the texture of that sadness? What is it saying? Is it a generative, rich with potential, that you want to work with?

Change is hard and leaving would require her to grieve, but that does not necessitate her staying. What would staying require her to grieve? Anytime we chose one path, there is grief in the life un-lived.

In yin yoga, we create a shape with our bodies and then offer it time, sometimes an uncomfortably long period of time. In the stillness and the quiet, our perception deepens. We can turn toward sensation in our bodies and notice it. We can turn toward emotions bubbling up and sit with them, giving them a microphone and listen with compassion. We can turn toward our thoughts and watch them arise and fade. In this practice, we remember we are not the sensations, emotions, and thoughts, we are the ones noticing them. When we choose to neither escape nor reach out to grip onto the sensations, emotions, and thoughts, over time we may became able to observe them without judgement. Over time, we may begin to say, “I am noticing sadness,” without assessing that emotion as negative or bad. We can dwell with the sadness, offering it attention, and noticing it shift in then gentle embrace. And over time, we can bring that practice off our mat to our lives into moments of deep discernment. Our bodies can offer us information, and we can respond, getting clear on our why and how as we choose our what.

We can opt into embodied practices intentionally and practice discerning in small moments. Do I stay in the sauna when the heat starts to feel oppressive, or do I remember the door is open and I can take a break to cool off? Do I stay at the party or head home? Do I stay in the yoga pose the guide called or modify my practice? There may not be a right answer in these moments, staying or going are both fine if we are not in inherent danger, so then we can practice our growing edge, doing the thing that may be less practiced and less comfortable. We can practice how our body is forming an opinion and telling us and building our how and why. Maybe we stay in the sauna but shift to a lower bench so we can practice breathing calmly in uncomfortable moments. Maybe we step out because we are feeling peer pressure to stay.

There is a refining fire in our disciplines, in the staying and in the going, that sloughs off what is not ours so that our true selves can be revealed with ease. We get clearer on what is ours to do in the world, what to double down on and what to walk away from. Some of my current disciplines include meditation, therapy, hot power yoga, reflective writing, yin yoga, running, and newly a three-song solo kitchen dance party over my lunch break. The practices themselves don’t guarantee the transformation, but they can strengthen our inner tools for us to use when we need them.

Are you one who tends to stay or go?

When has this question felt important to you?

What are your disciplines where you can practice this discernment?

How does your body communicate its opinion?