musingsonwomenshealth.com

Reflections on 40 years as a doctor in Women's Health

What’s gone and what’s past help


How many of us actually try to clarify in words, what we think we’re feeling? Affect labelling it’s called; apparently, the very act of labelling a negative emotion, can blunt its harmful effects even without a conscious goal in mind. In fact, labelling positive emotions seems to have a similar salutary effect.[i] The mechanism is uncertain, but it may be that to put feelings into words, people must first identify their emotional experiences, and to do that, they must self-reflect not only on what their feelings are, but also clarify what may be causing their emotions and so think about what might be an appropriate way of addressing them. Doing this verbally (out loud, that is) or in writing can be even more beneficial, as long as one is attempting an honest self-appraisal rather than simply trying to convince oneself by trickery or mislabelling the emotion[ii] -specificity is important: a rose by any other name may not actually smell as sweet, it seems.

I’m retired now, but after a long career in medical practice, I suppose I must have heard of the concept of ‘affect labelling’ before; still, I never expected to hear it from a friend who was trying it out on herself. I was out for a walk, and I saw her sitting by herself on a little bench on the seawall of Stanley Park in Vancouver. She seemed to be muttering something so I thought I’d stop ask her if she was okay.

“Just practicing,” she said, looking up at me with an embarrassed smile.

“Practicing what, Judy?” I said, trying to look interested, rather than concerned.

“Practicing noticing how I’m feeling, and then saying it out loud to myself…”

I was pretty sure I heard an ellipsis at the end of her sentence: some embarrassed hesitation -I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing them after all those years as an obstetrician/gynaecologist. I smiled and sat down on the bench beside her. “How are you feeling?” I figured it was the obvious follow-up thing to ask. I knew she’d been a professor of English Literature at the university and we were almost the same age, but she was retired like me: an Emerita.

She thought about it for a moment and then a tiny smile brightened up her face. “Well, I was feeling a little sad, I think, but now I’m more curious than sad…”

Another ellipsis. “And why ‘curious’?”

Her expression changed when I said that; she seemed perplexed.

“I can’t keep up with all these feelings,” she said after trying to analyse it. “So many emotions pop up, and when I try to pin one down and reflect on it, another one appears… and then another one in response to my inability to characterize the previous one quickly enough. It’s like the old days at university trying to scribble down notes at a lecture -I could never keep up.”

I smiled at her. “Me neither… But why the need to characterize each emotion that flits through your head?”

Once again, she acted flustered. “A friend in the psychology department at the university said that affect labelling might help me deal with… stuff, that’s all. And it’s better than the embarrassment of going for counselling, don’t you think?”

I looked out at the sea for a moment, not wishing to seem overly intrusive. But she was a friend. “What kind of stuff?” I asked, as a particularly large wave crashed against the seawall itself.

She glanced at me, obviously uncertain about how much she should reveal about herself.

“I’m sorry Judy; I’m not prying -honestly.” I warmed my smile as I regarded her. “I’m just asking as someone who noticed an old friend sitting alone on a bench and muttering to herself.”

She suddenly returned my smile. “I know you are, G,” she said, as she reached out to touch my arm, relieved she could talk about it to someone, I think. “I’ve just been going through a tough time… work, I suppose…”

I waited for her to continue.

“I’m not really at work, though,” she finally clarified, and rested her eyes on my cheek as she thought about it. “I retired a year or so ago, but I still give the occasional lecture -it keeps me engaged.” She sighed and looked out at the waves. “Still, after all these years, it’s hard to change from ‘valuable teacher’ to ‘accessory nipple’.” She chuckled at her metaphor and stared at the bench for a moment. “Everybody in the faculty still seems to appreciate me, and the students are usually so young they don’t know I’m actually retired -everybody who lectures to them seems old- so I don’t know what’s bothering me, G.” She sent her eyes to my face again. “You’re retired now after years as a doctor; do you have the same issue with lack of agency? Lack of purpose?”

I was still smiling at her ‘accessory nipple’ comment. “I’m still an agent, Judy,” I said through my smile. “Being a friend is being an agent, and there’s purpose enough in that, don’t you think?”

She nodded in reluctant agreement but I could see the wheels spinning in her head. “I used to say something like that to my students: ‘The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away.’ I suppose I should’ve realized there was a danger to giving it away…”

“I’ve heard that quote somewhere; was it Shakespeare?”

She shook her head. “Nobody is sure of the origin, but it sounds like something Shakespeare might have written doesn’t it?”

I nodded. “How about this, then: The road to Hell is paved with should’ves.”

 She thought about it for a moment. “Who said that?” she asked as she rolled her eyes.

“Me!”

She sighed at my simplicity -too long an English professor, I guess. “Did you just make that up now?”

I think I just flunked her class, but I shrugged it off. “Actually, I made it up when I was a kid; I can’t remember why, though.”

“And what’s it supposed to mean, G?” she said, obviously disappointed in my command of aphorisms.

“I would have thought that it was obvious,” I replied, my eyes twinkling at her. “A gift isn’t a gift unless it’s given.”

“You mean…”

“I mean that, although not as much as before, you’re still teaching aren’t you?” She nodded. “So you’re still giving gifts…”

She suddenly stood up and grabbed me by the hand. “Come on G, I’m going to give you the gift of coffee.” She winked at me. “And yes, I’ve just affect-labelled what I feel about that…”

“And…?”

She smiled and hugged me. “And I feel good about it!”

[i]  https://psyche.co/ideas/asking-one-simple-question-can-entirely-change-how-you-feel

[ii] Ibid.

gozzter

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