Learning to Feel What We’ve Avoided

In healing work, there’s a common misconception that the goal is to feel better. But more often than not, the deeper shift comes when we learn how to better feel. That distinction matters.

A recent conversation with a client—let’s call him Adam—captured this beautifully. What unfolded for him wasn’t a breakthrough in the typical sense. It was a quiet noticing, a subtle awareness that began to surface after a tough night with his son, Danny.

Danny had a rough soccer practice. He was dysregulated, upset, and struggled to stay present. As both coach and dad, Adam did his best to manage the situation. From the outside, he looked composed. He stayed calm on the ride home, followed the usual evening routine, and poured a drink—something he often does to wind down.

But later that night, when his wife asked about practice, something shifted. Frustration and defensiveness started to come out. What had looked like regulation earlier now seemed more like suppression. His wife, who’s also been doing her own therapeutic work, stayed calm. She didn’t meet his frustration with more frustration. She stayed grounded.

That was uncomfortable for Adam.

In the moment, he didn’t realize what was happening. But the next morning, a vivid dream stirred something. He woke up early, sat quietly, and began to reflect. What emerged was a question he hadn’t considered before: Was I angry because I was sad?

His wife had gently asked if he felt any sadness—about Danny struggling, about the possibility of stepping back from coaching, which brings him so much joy. At first, he said no. It didn’t seem relevant. But in saying it, something clicked. He realized sadness was a feeling he rarely allows himself to experience.

And when it does come, it doesn’t arrive gently. It feels overwhelming. Foreign. Like something he doesn’t quite know how to be with.

He described it this way:

“It’s like there’s a mountain of sadness behind a wall, and if I open that door, it’ll be too much.”

This is the kind of moment that matters in the work. Not because it solves anything immediately, but because it points to a pattern that’s ready to be seen. In Adam’s case, it revealed how easily sadness gets bypassed—how anger and coping (like drinking) show up instead. And how unfamiliar it feels to simply sit with what’s there.

This isn’t about blame or judgment. It’s about building the capacity to feel what’s been pushed aside—not to wallow in it, but to acknowledge it. To let it be real.

Adam’s reflection ended with something simple but powerful:

“I haven’t interacted with the sadness, but I can tell there’s some there.”

That’s more than enough. That’s where healing begins.

This work isn’t always neat or comfortable. Often, it’s just noticing what we haven’t been able to feel and making space for it, little by little.

Because the goal isn’t to feel better all the time.

It’s to better feel what’s true.