Will you feel me better?

Several weeks ago, I started jotting down ideas for a post on toughness: on how our society, in both implicit and explicit ways, teaches us to hide our struggles, our sorrows, and our pain from one another, and how our stifled emotions end up surfacing in other, damaging ways such as anger and violence. I was dwelling on this topic because my youngest daughter, who is five, asks me this question—will you feel me better?—whenever she gets upset. It occurred to me how wonderful it would be if we all felt free to ask one another this question when we feel sad, scared, or lonely.

Well I feel sad, scared, and lonely right now. After listening to the news and scrolling my Facebook feed this week, I find myself wanting to crawl into a burrow and cry. In fact, I did cry today when I was accused of being brainwashed by Democrats because I don’t think that President Trump has fostered unity in our country. I wrote a comment calling for people on both sides of the aisle to be willing to listen to the other side and engage in productive dialogue, to listen to one another’s ideas rather than assuming the worst of one another, and this means I’m brainwashed by Democrats? What on earth is happening to our country? Why are so many people being so hateful to one another? Why do we make so many assumptions about people we don’t even know, in whose shoes we have never walked? Why are we all so angry at one another?

Maybe it has to do with that little question we’ve been too afraid to ask since we were seven: Will you feel me better? It troubles me that my seven-year-old is already starting to hold back from asking me to “feel her better” unless she is really feeling desperate; she is working on developing a tough outer shell while in the meantime, her delicate inner feelings cry out for recognition. As I observe the expressions on her face when she gets upset recently, a mixture of anger is beginning to cloud over her hurt. It alarms me, but I seem unable to convince her that it is okay to cry and ask for comfort when she is upset—to admit when she wants or needs help.

Maybe I’m wrong, but I suspect that much of the spitfire we are hurling at one another on the airwaves and on social media stems from the smoldering embers of pain and frustration that we all hold inside—all those pent-up emotions that we haven’t been able to talk about since we were kids but haven’t been able to brush aside either. We’ve all absorbed the message that we’re not supposed to show weakness, not supposed to admit when we don’t know something, not supposed to reveal fear or need. So instead we stand on our own separate pillars, defending our islands of belief, refusing to admit that we don’t have all the answers and that no one we vote for does, either.

The truth is, research in all types of settings, from board rooms to classrooms, has shown that we do need each other. We need each other’s ideas, insights, experiences, and strengths in order to find solutions to complex problems. The Democrats don’t have the answers. The Republicans don’t have the answers. The blacks don’t have the answers. The whites don’t have the answers. No one has the answers. But collectively we can begin to generate some answers, if only we are willing to begin by admitting that we do have needs, and that those needs aren’t being met by our current social, economic, and political order.