More Than One Thing Can Be True

One of the things I've been noticing lately is how often I use the word and in meaningful conversations and even in therapy sessions. It's a small word, but I think it does some surprisingly important work.

Recently, I was speaking with a young person who is struggling with intense anger toward one of their parents. As we talked, they admitted something that caught my attention: "I almost wish they were just mean to me all the time," they said. "It would make things so much easier."

What they were wrestling with wasn't really anger. It was complexity. They loved this parent deeply and they were deeply hurt by them. Holding both of those truths at the same time felt almost impossible. I don't think they're alone.

Many of us long for life to be simpler than it actually is. We like clear explanations, obvious villains, and straightforward answers. Psychologist Daniel Kahneman, in his book Thinking, Fast and Slow, describes how our minds naturally gravitate toward quick, simple explanations rather than slower, more nuanced ones. That tendency often serves us well. But when it comes to our emotional lives, simplicity can sometimes get in the way.

Our emotions rarely fit into neat categories.

The Quiet Gift of "And"

One of the privileges of being a therapist is watching the moment when someone realizes they don't have to choose just one emotion. A client tells me they're angry.

We sit with that for a few moments. Then I simply ask, "I wonder if anything else is there too?"

Often the room becomes quiet.

Eventually they might say, "I think I'm actually hurt."

Or...

"I'm disappointed."

Or...

"I'm scared."

The anger was real. It just wasn't the whole story.

I've found this to be true in my own life as well. Sometimes what first appears to be frustration gradually reveals disappointment. Sometimes what feels like anxiety has a layer of excitement beneath it. Sometimes gratitude and grief quietly sit beside one another, even though they seem like opposites.

The longer I pay attention, the more I realize that emotions rarely travel alone.

Sunshine and rain can exist together. So can gratitude and grief, love and anger, hope and fear.

Emotional Health Isn't About Choosing One Feeling

In previous posts we've explored becoming emotional detectives, paying attention to our bodies, and understanding how our nervous system can react when it believes there's a bear in the room. Each of those practices invites us to slow down before drawing conclusions.

This is another invitation to do the same.

Perhaps emotional health isn't about finding the right emotion.

Perhaps it's about making room for more of the story.

That story might sound like this:

I'm grateful and grieving.

I'm excited and terrified.

I love my child and I'm exhausted.

I'm relieved and disappointed.

I forgive them and I still need boundaries.

Notice what happens when we replace or with and.

The tension doesn't necessarily disappear.

But something softens.

We no longer have to force ourselves into choosing between two experiences that may both be true.

Psychological Flexibility

Psychologists sometimes use the phrase psychological flexibility to describe our ability to adapt, take in new information, and respond to life without becoming trapped by rigid ways of thinking.

I find that idea deeply hopeful.

Psychological flexibility allows us to hold complexity without immediately needing to resolve it.

Instead of asking,

"Which feeling is the real one?"

we begin asking,

"What else might be true?"

That simple shift changes everything.

It creates space for curiosity.

It invites compassion.

It reminds us that our first interpretation is rarely our only interpretation.

The Emotion Wheel Revisited

Earlier in this series I introduced the Emotion Wheel, and it remains one of my favourite counselling tools.

One of the reasons I appreciate it is that it reminds us to stay curious.

Many versions of the wheel begin with broader emotions near the centre before gradually moving outward into more specific feelings.

Perhaps we begin by noticing anger.

As we continue paying attention, we discover frustration.

Then disappointment.

Then hurt.

Sometimes even grief.

The goal isn't to replace one feeling with another.

The goal is to discover that our emotional lives are often richer and more layered than we first imagined.

More Than One Story

I've been wondering lately if one of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves is permission to stop reducing our experience to a single explanation.

Perhaps that's true of emotions.

Perhaps it's true of relationships.

Perhaps it's even true of the stories we tell ourselves.

The longer I work with people—and, if I'm honest, the longer I pay attention to my own life—the less interested I become in quick answers.

I've found that growth often begins with a very small word.

And.

It creates space for complexity.

It creates space for compassion.

It creates space for curiosity.

It reminds me that I don't have to reduce myself—or anyone else—to a single emotion, a single mistake, or a single story.

More often than not...

there's more.

Continue the Conversation

🛠 Try This

The next time you notice a strong emotion, pause before settling on the first explanation.

Ask yourself:

• What else might I be feeling?

• Is another emotion sitting quietly beside this one?

• What happens if I replace "or" with "and"?

You don't need to force an answer.

Simply becoming curious is often where growth begins.

📚 Curious to Learn More?

If you're interested in why our minds naturally prefer quick, simple explanations, I highly recommend Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman. While it isn't a psychotherapy book, it offers fascinating insights into how our minds process information and why we sometimes overlook complexity in favour of certainty.