Cry Me a River, Or Don't

Inside every trainer is a
overachieving perfectionist,
whose anger at herself over
only making 114 on the
Charms final will lead her
to develop an even more
elaborate study system
in time for the next exam,
probably involving color
coding and tabs. Trainers
also love office supplies.

As with most people in the training profession, I can not only tell you my Myers-Briggs personality type, but can pretty accurately assess other people's types without having to pass out the #2 pencils. Trainers love personality assessments. It's part of that whole seeing potential, helping people be their best, rose-tinted let-me-help-you-change nurturer thing that led us to teaching to begin with (and, not infrequently, makes us such fun in relationships).

One way the Myers-Briggs classifies us is on how we make decisions. Thinkers are the logicians, the rationalist, the King Solomons, who use logic and reason to decide. Feelers, on the other hand, are those softies who decide with their hearts, who value relationships and feelings over rules and policies.

Most of my life, I've tried to be a Thinker, and occasionally succeeded. My friends are mostly Thinkers, my family are mostly Thinkers, and because I value harmony and relationships (i.e., because I'm a Feeler), I have often convinced myself I was a Thinker, too. For years, I tested that way on the assessment, because, no matter how much the instructions tell you not to do this, I had convinced myself those were the answers I should pick, that reason and logic were somehow moral because most of the people I loved thought so.

One of those is Eleanor, my eldest daughter, whom I call Queen of the Rational. If she notices that I seem unhappy, we invariably have this conversation:

"So, these...emotions...what do you
do with them? Please explain."

Eleanor: You look sad. What happened?
Me: [abridged version as appropriate for 14 year old]
Eleanor: Huh. That doesn't make sense. I mean, you don't KNOW that's going to happen. So I don't know why you're upset about it.
Me: ....
Eleanor:  <clearly pleased at solving problem, puts in earbuds and plays Linkin Park>

The only other Feeler in the household is Betty. Everyone else in the family is perplexed by Betty; she is an interplanetary tourist from the Land of Emotions visiting their calm, subdued and rational world in her pink Hawaiian print shirt and gold shoes. I've often found myself having to translate Betty to Rational, and doing so has made me realize how much she and I see the world in a similar way.

Eleanor: Why doesn't Betty want me to come to volleyball practice?
Betty: You're mean to me! I don't want you there!
Eleanor: I'm not being mean now. So why don't you want me there?
Me: Betty is still upset with you because you took a picture of her when she accidentally wore her shorts backwards and texted it to your friend Annabelle.
Eleanor: WHAT? That happened a month ago! I forgot all about that until just now. That doesn't make any sense!
Me: Perhaps IF YOU APOLOGIZED, said something like, "Betty, I'm sorry if my actions hurt you..."
Eleanor: Wait, are you the Thought Police now? We say rude things all the time--we're sisters. Then we move on. I moved on. It's over.
Betty: I hate her.
Eleanor: <puts earbuds in and turns on Halsey>

Bob and Daisy make decisions primarily based on food, 
rather than on thinking or feeling, which may explain why 
Daisy's paw looks like it's punching a fur-covered balloon.

Betty has always been overwhelmed by her emotions. She has cried so hard she's thrown up on more than one occasion. When Betty starts crying a river, her siblings come straight to me, because I am the only one who knows what to say to calm her down. They'll say, "Betty's crying about something. IDK what--there doesn't seem to be anything wrong." Then they'll shrug their shoulders and go play Nintendo or watch Netflix because any problem that can't be explained probably doesn't exist. I go find Betty and we hold each other for a while, and then, when she's calmer, we talk about what she's feeling, and what the other person involved might have been feeling, and then, when we figure out all these feelings, she stops crying, cheers up, and goes back to watching anime. Then, because I feel an obligation to attempt to educate the Thinkers in the family, I head over to the person who reported the crying so I can attempt to explain why somebody might be upset about perfectly rational people telling her The Facts and a detailed analysis of said facts. "But, it was true!" they say, and I invariably reply, "Maybe, but it wasn't helpful." And then they wander off, frustrated, because how can facts not be helpful?

I Love You to Proxima Centauri B and Back

The corollary is, whenever I need a bit of emotional support, it is harder to find than tofu in a barbecue joint. Betty is always good for a 10 minute hug, three drawings, and a dozen "I love you" and "Best mom in the universe," but, since she's 9 and has the attention span of a very happy puppy, is not appropriately a source of support. (The hugs are great, though. In fact, even when neither of us is upset, Betty and I sound pretty much like if the person who wrote the "I love you to the moon and back" book had scored a contract to write a thousand sequels.) So, I've become pretty good at being my own support.

At any rate, as I've learned to accept myself, I've gotten more comfortable with feelings: having them, other people having them, talking about them, and <gasp> even factoring them into decisions without feeling guilty about it. And I've found that I've got at least one traveling companion to join me on a fun, irreverent, and, yes, emotional, tour of the Land of the Rational.