What Is This Feeling Trying to Tell Me?

One of my favourite ways to start the day is taking my dog, Rocky, out for his morning walk. Rocky has become remarkably good at reading the signs that a walk is about to happen. Apparently, even putting on my socks is enough to raise suspicion. Add my walking shoes, his leash, or the poop bags disappearing into my pocket, and his ears perk up, his tail begins wagging ferociously, and before long he starts his particular bark-howl combination that seems to mean, I know exactly what is happening here, and you are taking far too long.

He is, in his own way, reading the data.

Once we're outside, the environment begins giving us information too. Sometimes the sky suddenly grows dark. The wind picks up. The temperature drops. Sometimes the air itself just seems to change.

None of those things tells us with absolute certainty what is about to happen. A dark cloud doesn't necessarily mean a thunderstorm. But taken together, the clues may suggest that Rocky and I should probably turn toward home rather than adding another kilometre to the walk.

We notice the conditions. We take in the information. Then we decide what to do.

I've been thinking lately that our feelings work a little like that.

Reading the Weather

Years ago, while on retreat, a spiritual director offered me a phrase that has stayed with me ever since:

“Feelings are data for discernment.”

I loved it. Partly because it seemed to avoid two extremes at once. It didn't dismiss feelings as irrational noise that needed to be overcome or ignored. But it also didn't suggest that everything I felt was automatically true, wise, or something I needed to act upon immediately.

Feelings give us information. What we do with that information requires discernment.

That distinction has become increasingly important to me, both personally and in my work as a therapist. We can sometimes become so focused on getting rid of uncomfortable emotions that we forget to ask whether they might have something useful to tell us.

Anger. Anxiety. Sadness. Shame. The urge to withdraw. The need to make everyone around us happy. Even that strange unsettled feeling when we can't quite identify what is wrong. Maybe before trying to make it disappear, we can become curious about it.

“What Is That Doing for You?”

There's a question I use frequently with clients: “What is that doing for you?”

It can sound a little strange at first. I'm not asking, “What's wrong with you?” And I'm not suggesting that every reaction is secretly healthy. I'm simply wondering about its function. What job might this feeling or behaviour be trying to do?

Take anger. Sometimes anger gives us energy when we've been feeling powerless. It can help us push back, protect something important, find our voice, set a boundary, or finally say, Enough.

That doesn't mean everything we do while angry is helpful. But understanding what the anger is doing gives us considerably more information than simply deciding, I need to stop being angry.

The same thing can happen with other reactions. People-pleasing may reduce our fear of someone's disapproval. Withdrawal may protect us when we're overwhelmed. Overthinking may be trying desperately to prevent a mistake. Reassurance-seeking may be trying to settle uncertainty. Shutting down may be our nervous system's way of saying, I don't have much capacity left right now.

Once we understand the job, we have more options for deciding whether the current strategy is actually working.

Understanding Isn't the Same as Endorsing

I think this distinction matters. Understanding why I yell when I feel powerless doesn't make yelling okay. Understanding that withdrawing protects me from overwhelm doesn't mean disappearing from a relationship for three days is necessarily helpful. Understanding that people-pleasing protects me from rejection doesn't mean I need to keep abandoning my own needs to make everyone else comfortable.

Curiosity isn't the same thing as permission. It simply gives us somewhere more useful to begin. If anger is giving me strength, perhaps I can use that strength to speak clearly rather than explosively. If anxiety is trying to prepare me for danger, perhaps I can listen to the warning and then consider whether the danger is actually present. If withdrawal is telling me that I'm overwhelmed, perhaps I can ask for some space rather than simply vanishing.

Understanding what a reaction is trying to accomplish can help us find another way of accomplishing the same thing. And usually that's much easier than simply telling ourselves to stop feeling what we're feeling.

The Data Isn't the Decision

This brings me back to Rocky and the weather. If we're walking and I notice storm clouds gathering, I don't need to panic, scoop Rocky into my arms, and sprint home. (He would probably find this deeply confusing anyway.)

But completely ignoring the clouds isn't particularly wise either. The information deserves my attention - it just doesn't make the decision for me. I think we can learn to hold our feelings in much the same way. Sometimes we mistrust emotion completely. We tell ourselves to stop being so sensitive, get over it, calm down, or think rationally.

At other times, we can make the opposite mistake: I feel it, therefore it must be true.

Discernment lives somewhere between those two places.

It says: Pay attention. Don't panic. Don't ignore it. Get curious.

If I'm angry, what might the anger be doing for me?

If I'm anxious, what is the anxiety anticipating?

If I'm suddenly withdrawing, what am I trying to get away from?

If I'm unusually hurt by something small, why might this particular thing matter so much?

We may not immediately know, and that's okay. The goal isn't perfect emotional interpretation - it's to gather the information. Sometimes the most honest answer is simply, I'm not sure yet. And “I don't know yet” can be a surprisingly good place from which to become curious.

Continue the Conversation

🛠 Try This

The next time you notice a strong feeling or familiar reaction, see if you can pause before trying to fix it. Ask yourself three questions:

• What am I noticing?

• What might this be doing for me?

• Knowing that, what do I want to do next?

Don't worry about finding the perfect explanation. You're not solving a puzzle with one correct answer. You're noticing the weather, gathering some data, and then deciding what you want to do with what you've learned.

📚 Curious to Learn More?

Psychologist Susan David uses a wonderfully similar phrase in her work on emotional agility: our emotions can be understood as “data, not directives.” Her book Emotional Agility explores how we can make room for difficult thoughts and feelings without allowing them to determine our behaviour, while becoming clearer about what matters to us.

I particularly appreciate that approach because it doesn't ask us to choose between emotion and reason. It invites us to listen to our emotions with curiosity and then choose our response intentionally. Her website also has an excellent short article called “Recognizing Your Emotions as Data, Not Directives.” 

🤝 Need Some Help?

For many of us, learning to read our own emotional signals doesn't come naturally. Perhaps emotions weren't discussed much growing up, or certain feelings were discouraged, minimized, or difficult to express. Sometimes the signals are strong but the meaning remains hard to identify.

Therapy can provide a place to slow the process down, become curious about familiar patterns, and discover what your reactions may be trying to communicate—without assuming that every feeling needs to be fixed or followed. The goal isn't to become perfectly fluent in every emotion - it's to understand ourselves well enough to have a little more choice about what happens next.

Feelings are data for discernment.

The data matters. But the data isn't the decision.

If this article was helpful, you might also enjoy: The Power of the Pause, When “Fine” Is the Only Word You Can Find, and Your Body Knows Before Your Mind Does.