I Just Want You To Be Happy
Breaking free of the desire to control other people’s emotions
A few years ago, as we were beginning to ease out of pandemic restrictions, I confessed to my mental health coach that I was slightly terrified of re-entering social situations. I was certain I had forgotten everything I’d once known about making conversation, and that I was going to mess up, I was going to say stupid stuff and make other people feel awkward. She started by reassuring me that many people were feeling the same way, but her next statement kind of blew my mind.
Everyone is entitled to feel how they feel (even if it's awkward) and it's never your responsibility or place to change that.
I was like, WAIT. BACK UP. What do you mean, it’s not my place to manage other people’s emotions??? Countless experiences have led me to believe that this was one of my main tasks in life! Especially as a mother—society has convinced me that part of my job is DEFINITELY to keep my children’s emotions in check, and not allow them to express themselves in ways deemed unacceptable. (As in: “Lady, you need to make your kid stop crying.”)
I also had come to believe that this skill was a safeguard against my crippling fear of social rejection. If I focused on making sure people were comfortable around me, if I did everything I could to put them at ease and avoid any whiff of awkwardness, they would accept me—right??
The theory made sense, but in practice it just added another level of pressure, which sometimes made me so anxious that I careened straight into awkward despite my best efforts. My coach’s statement made me wonder, though: what if there was another way? What if I just… let people be? Not only would that liberate me from the stress of subconsciously trying to regulate other people’s emotional states, but it would free them from my meddling as well.
I noticed a lot of parallels to this concept when I read Melody Beattie’s classic self-help book Codependent No More. I always used to think “codependent” was the opposite of “independent”—like two people who were so entwined they couldn’t function without each other. But Beattie defines a codependent person as “one who has let another person’s behavior affect them and who is obsessed with controlling that other person’s behavior.” Usually this control is related to saving the other person (from addiction, alcoholism, illness, etc.) and works itself into a destructive cycle where the codependent is so fixated on changing the behavior of the other person that they neglect their own needs and start to lose their sense of self.
So, okay, maybe it’s not exactly the same as the desire to people-please in social situations or ensure that my children are happy at all times. But even if the intensity level is dialed down, the concept is the same. Basically, it’s an inner monologue along the lines of, “I can’t be okay unless you are okay, so whenever you’re not okay I need to focus all my energy on fixing you, because that’s the only way that we can both be okay again.”
Yup, I can relate. And the more I thought about it, the more parallels I saw rippling throughout the larger culture. There’s the archetype of the self-sacrificing mother, for one. The “I’m going to find the cure for your illness, even if it kills me” TV-show doctor. Countless fictional relationships depict codependency, often in a positive light. Obviously, it’s everywhere in the real world, too. Not just in interpersonal relationships, either. The white saviorism and paternalistic “we know what’s best for you” attitude that runs through many charity/philanthropic/nonprofit organizations is definitely cut from the same cloth.
Sometimes this omnipresence makes codependency seem like the norm. And maybe it is? But it doesn’t have to be. I knew that if I could manage to unlearn this tendency within myself, it would help my relationships with family, friends, coworkers, organizations I volunteer with, and even random people I might meet at a social event.
I’m still figuring out how to put this into practice. One thing that helped immensely was working with a therapist who didn’t buy into the idea that her role was to fix broken little me. Instead, she served as a guide who held space for me to work through my stuff on my own terms, in my own time. This example was such a gift—it was where I first truly understood just how liberating and empowering emotional autonomy could be. (Though it sure was uncomfortable at first—it took over a year before I finally could let my tears flow freely in our sessions without apologizing.)
Even so, I still have to repeat my coach’s words constantly to myself. Everyone is entitled to feel how they feel, and it is never your responsibility or place to change that. This is especially difficult when it comes to my kids! But I would argue that it’s an essential survival skill for life with teens. Now, when one of the kids is upset about something, I’ll give them a hug (if they let me) or listen as they vent, all the while trying to beam out vibes that communicate I love you even when you’re sad/angry/grumpy.
There are still times when I get dragged down if someone’s in a foul mood. When this happens I remind myself yet again that they are allowed to feel how they feel, and so am I—but their mood will pass, and so will mine, so I don’t have to let it ruin my whole day.
And, oh, do I have opportunities to practice this! Just the other week, while we were vacationing in San Francisco, we stopped at a beach overlooking the Golden Gate. Someone offered to take a family photo of us, but as we were smiling and posing, a rogue wave came way up the beach and soaked my spouse and son’s shoes. My son was SO MAD about this—he was wearing his beloved white Air Force 1 sneakers and was convinced they would never be the same again.
Thus commenced a long and gradual de-escalation period. He wanted to stay at the beach while his shoes and socks dried off, even though the rest of us were ready to move on. But it was a sunny morning, and it was beautiful there on the beach, and we knew that forcing him to get back in his shoes and put on a happy face would just make him even more resentful.
So we stayed put. Even as we validated his right to be upset about the unfortunate event, we tried to reassure him that it would be okay in the end. (I suggested that his shoes were actually cooler now that they’d been kissed by the ocean… but alas, this was not exactly a compelling argument to a 13-year-old.)
“I feel bad,” he said after we’d sat around for a while and his shoes still weren’t dry enough. “I don’t want to ruin your day.” I assured him that he wasn’t. We were on vacation in California, with the sun on our faces, the ocean and the bridge before us. He was allowed to be angry, and I didn’t have to let it affect me.
And that sure felt a lot like freedom.