Having tea with our strong emotions

In a world increasingly divided, it's easy to get caught up in the “us vs. them” mentality. But what if the key to bridging those divides lies within ourselves? This essay explores the dangers of polarisation and the importance of self-reflection. It challenges us to confront our own biases, embrace nuance, and cultivate compassion for those who hold different views. Join the conversation and let's explore how we can build a more understanding

Two friends I admire shared this opinion piece in the Guardian by Rebecca Shaw last week via Instagram stories. The title, which hooked me instantly, summed up a shared feeling, one for which I’d yet to articulate into a clear statement. Let’s see what it does for you:

“I knew one day I’d have to watch powerful men burn the world down – I just didn’t expect them to be such losers.”

2025 is off to a strong start, really. Between the devastating fires in Los Angeles and the embarrassing bro’s club of tech oligarchs kissing the ring of his ‘maga-sty’ (term coined by Jimmy Kimmel), thank god (or GOD?) for the ceasefire in the Middle East. A sliver of hope against a world engulfed in flames. I’d almost pray right now (and I don’t, per se - I practice metta or Loving Kindness…)

Shaw, in her column, captured the reason why my stomach has been twisted into thick knots and also I’ve set my phone on silent mode for days on end to evade dreaded notifications. I’m all for action, support and change: I identify as courageous. As it turns out, the mere thought of Meta rolling back their safeguards that until now protected us from fake news and the devil clowns of a ball called investiture bring on bouts of nausea. More worrying (and visible), my face cannot seem to cover this sense of disgust; I grimace even at this screen just as I type. I’ve met my limits. Frustration, I thought, that’s what it is. Embarrassment. How is this where the world is today? Yuck. And fuck this. Yeah. Anger.

As Shaw offers:

“What I didn’t expect, and don’t think I could have foreseen, is how incredibly cringe it would all be. I have been prepared for evil, for greed, for cruelty, for injustice – but I did not anticipate that the people in power would also be such huge losers."

The overwhelming feeling that I believe millions (if not billions) of people are stewing with is: we are so much better than this.

Dear oh dear. Dare I say it. We are so much better than them! Oh it feels great to write this. ‘I could do so much better than this, give me the controls and I’ll steer this world in a better direction,’ one of my inner voices is affirming, loudly.

As I delight in the act of reducing these men (for where are the women?) to their actions, I was reminded of two things.

Over the course of an interview for Out of the Clouds with yoga teacher Jeanne Heilemann last week, we landed on the topic of judgement. Both yoga philosophy nerds (though I am a novice and she is a senior teacher), we explored what happens when we jump on our high horse and look down at the base behaviours of those we deem wrong, bad, unlike our good selves.

DYSFUNCTIONAL RELATIONSHIPS: A REFLECTION OF OURPOLARISED SOCIETIES

It’s unlikely that you know this about me but whenever I feel judged, I clam right up. One of my clients called this phenomenon in her ‘battening down the hatches’.

Growing up with bourgeois French relatives, more concerned with their twin sets, pearls and appearances than the catholic values they were meant to embrace, I experienced first-hand the ego-squashing effects of their disapproving remarks. Very aware of the dire consequences of this othering, I strive to offer a non-judgmental attitude in all my interactions, especially in my coaching and mentoring. Also, it’s a work in progress. I accept that I am biased, and certainly like everyone else, I have blind spots.

For a while, I even chose to define myself in opposition to those behaviours I defined as ‘wrong’ or ‘bad’. I will not be like them, I’d say to myself. I will do better. I know better.

Dr Guralnik, a clinical psychologist and psychoanalyst (practising in New York and appears on the Showtime documentary series “Couples Therapy”), explained in the NYT what happened to my young brain:

“As children, early in our psychological development, we all resort to a defence mechanism identified by the psychoanalyst Melanie Klein as ‘splitting’. To cope with negative or inexplicable experiences, we divide our perceptions of people into either all-good or all-bad.

This splitting allows us to avoid dealing with feelings of vulnerability, shame, hate, ambivalence or anxiety by externalising (or dumping) unwanted emotions onto others. We then feel free to categorise these others as entirely negative while seeing ourselves as good.”

Since these antagonising events, I’ve learned that my heart and mind harbour a mini-dictator in the making. I’d love nothing more than to force companies to take unclean products off the shelves and make it compulsory to replace them with ecological alternatives, for example. Just thinking about this, a powerful grin spread across my face. Yes, how great would that be? I’m coming for you, Unilever and Co. Oh, how I’d change the health system and pharmaceutical conglomerates. And, wait for it, I’d be all up in the face of the tech world to build empathetic tool that protect minorities instead of serving dividing messaging that push extremes against one another.

My mini-dictator would also quite like to take over my life. She is deeply self-righteous and has little patience for anything that is not her opinion.

Just as she judges the worrying developments in American, French, British and German politics (to name only a few), my totalitarian self is acting from that same childhood reactive state. Dr Guralnik goes on to share:

“In political environments, this kind of splitting manifests in an “us versus them” mentality — where “our” side is virtuous and correct, and “their” side is wrong and flawed — which produces the kind of rigid, extreme, ideological warring we are caught up in now.

The technologies that mediate our access to reality only exacerbate this dynamic. The algorithms used by social media prioritise sensationalist and divisive content, creating ‘bubbles’ that limit our exposure to diverse perspectives, rather than fostering a balanced discourse.”

Just as I’m grossed out by the billionaire tech bros’ club, I’m guessing I’m someone else’s cringe. Damn, I’m middle-aged, plump, a little extravagant in my tastes (pink hair last year, passion for sweatpants, gigantic coats, and expensive shoes, though no longer red-soled).

Like so many, perhaps you, reading me, I care about the fate of the world. People, and non-people alike. Democracy is being gravely threatened by the uber-rich in a wave described by the Guardian as wealth extremism. This pushes against the values that exist deep in my core. And god, I recoil with the discomfort.

Mindfulness teacher Tara Brach often talks about the Buddha's compassionate heart, when confronted by the demon God Mara.

​She explains:​

“Instead of ignoring Mara or driving him away, the Buddha would calmly acknowledge his presence, saying, “I see you, Mara.”

He would then invite him for tea and serve him as an honored guest. Offering Mara a cushion so that he could sit comfortably, the Buddha would fill two earthen cups with tea, place them on the low table between them, and only then take his own seat. Mara would stay for a while and then go, but throughout the Buddha remained free and undisturbed.”

The God Mara can be used as a metaphor of how we relate to our inner and outer lives. Ms Brach goes on to offer:

“Our habit of being a fair weather friend to ourselves—of pushing away or ignoring whatever darkness we can—is deeply entrenched. But just as a relationship with a good friend is marked by understanding and compassion, we can learn to bring these same qualities to our own inner life.”

When instead of pushing away the discomfort, anger, or frustration, and stewing in my better truth, I attempt to bring these strong emotions closer, something opens up inside of me. I come to see that underneath the heat, lies a pain, and a deep sadness. In inviting them for tea, so to speak, the splitting effect loses its hold on me.

Something that Dr Guralnik frames as:

“In Kleinian psychoanalysis, the ‘depressive position’ is the phase that comes after the paranoid-schizoid position, when one emerges into a more integrated and mature state. In the depressive position, individuals begin to see themselves and others as complex and multifaceted, capable of both positive and negative qualities.

For a culture struggling with extreme political polarisation, moving toward a depressive position would mean fostering a collective capacity to see political opponents as complex, nuanced individuals rather than entirely negative or hostile figures.”

It’s strange and a very different kind of uncomfortable to accept that the men and women doing all the things we hate and feel repulsed by are human beings, just as we are. That despite this early mechanism of splitting to build an identity as ‘better than’, we are still equal in our humanity, with all the difficulties that may bring.

Just as I have a leftist mini-dictator wishing to rule the world and make it better, so do you. In another dimension, life or multiverse, who knows what we would be capable of?

In recognising the instinct in me that would want to power over others, I realise I am not better than, I am like them. Or rather in me, there lies a possibility of being like them.

Dr Guralnik reframes:

“Such an approach offers a pathway to transform the ‘us versus them mindset into ‘them are us’. This is the first step toward a psychological maturity that can help us counteract the desire to simplify and polarise and move together toward repair.”

Jack Kornfield, author and veteran mindfulness teacher, often tells the following story, to invite us to work honourably with our anger, and move from suffering to compassion and loving awareness:

“A young novice, deeply troubled by the suffering and hatred in the world, goes to his teacher or senior monk for guidance. He expresses his despair and concern, asking how he can possibly make a difference or cultivate peace in the face of so much anger and cruelty.

The teacher listens patiently and then asks the novice a profound question: ‘Tell me, is there even a single spark of anger in your own heart?’

The novice reflects deeply and acknowledges that, yes, there is indeed a spark of anger within him.

The teacher then advises the young monk:

‘Then work on that first.

Begin with yourself.

For if you cannot extinguish the anger in your own heart, how can you hope to bring peace to the world?’”

In a world ablaze, it would serve us to consider the embers lying in our own hearts. Let’s all beware of ecstatic righteousness and the intoxicating thrill of hate, let that not stop us from seeing the possibility of right action, learning from anger and discomfort, and believing in the possibility of doing better, together.
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