The Reality of Feelings...by Cecil Murphey

If it hadn't been for my wife, Shirley, I would have deleted the first three chapters of a manuscript. "It's worthless," I said. "No one wants to read this junk."

I honestly felt that way; Shirley persuaded me that the writing was "not that bad." (She said it was good.) I saved it, sent it to my editor with a copy to Twila, my assistant. Later that day, Twila emailed, "You really have some powerful things to say."

Is that so? The chapters didn't feel powerful to me. They felt mundane and simplistic.

I tell this true account because that experience reminded me of something valuable. I had listened to my feelings and this time they were wrong.

When I'm upbeat and read my writing or review speeches I've made, or anything else I've done, I usually give myself a passing grade. But when I go through a few dark days, nothing I do feels good enough. No matter what I write, or what I say to an audience, I leave thinking it wasn't good. Maybe I'll be better next time.

Of course it also works the other way. A few times I've felt I'd spoken well and it was only adequate; however, that part hasn't troubled me. My anguish has centered on negative emotions about something that others look at with some objectivity and say, "This is good."

I may feel bad about something I've done, but that doesn't make it bad. Too often I confused the emotion with reality. These days I pause and ask myself, "What's going on that makes me feel the way I do right now?" (I talk aloud to myself.) So I remind myself that because I feel a particular way doesn't make it true. Instead it tells me how I feel about something.

The one way I've figured to deal with this is to say one sentence to myself (and sometimes repeat it several times):