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π Emotions need somewhere to go
Published about 9 hours agoΒ β’Β 3 min read
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Hi Reader,
Welcome to this edition of the Maps of the Mind newsletter.
π Emotions need somewhere to go
I was in Berlin last week, visiting friends.
On Sunday afternoon, I went to a service at a place called the Church of Interbeing.
For much of it, forty or so of us sat in a large ring around the outer edge of a circular carpet. The theme was the field of love. There was music, connection exercises, shared space.
At one point, we all stood. Everyone turned inward, hands facing toward the centre β a quiet physical act of holding the space together. Those who felt moved stepped inside. Some stood quietly. Some cried. Some wailed. Others were there to offer a hug to whoever needed one.
I stepped in too.
The tears came. Someone put their arms around me. I just let it happen.
That wasn't the only moment in Berlin. A few conversations with friends β someone putting a hand on my shoulder while tears ran quietly down my face β each one doing something similar.
Giving the emotion somewhere to go.
Over the last weeks, as I begin to navigate grief, I've become more aware of this.
The feelings are there. They don't disappear when you stay busy. They sit in the body, waiting for the right container to move through.
A song can open it. A genuine conversation with the right person. A slow walk somewhere quiet. And then suddenly the tears are there, and you realise they were close to the surface the whole time.
Many of us grew up in cultures that didn't leave much room for this. I grew up with a lot of stiff upper lip around me. Emotions were private things, if they were allowed at all. The message, often unspoken: hold it together, stay functional, not here.
The body is smart about this. It holds it together at work, in the supermarket, in between things. It knows when it's not safe to let go.
The question is whether there's ever a moment when it is.
Because if we only ever hold it together, the emotion doesn't disappear. It waits. And sooner or later, it needs somewhere to go. Because if it never does, it doesn't stay still. It finds other exits: irritability, numbness, a heaviness that never quite lifts.
What I've been reminded of is that you have to find those containers. Create them, seek them out, say yes when they appear.
A grief walk in nature. A sharing circle. A service like the one in Berlin. A friend who lets you be a mess without trying to fix it. These things matter more than we usually admit.
This is also one of the core lessons from psychedelic work: that going toward a difficult emotion, rather than away from it, is often where the real movement happens. In a session, that's easier. There's a container. There's music, intention, someone holding space. The environment does a lot of the work.
But what about after? When you're back in normal life, back in between things, the container is gone. The integration, the actual processing of what came up, still needs somewhere to happen. That part often gets skipped.
Music can be one of the most direct routes back in. Carve out a pocket of undisturbed time somewhere away from your usual noise. Put on a track from your last journey, one that opened something. See what comes.
You don't have to do anything with it. Just let it move.
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A reflection for you today:
π Where do your emotions have somewhere to go? What containers have you found, or built, that actually work?
What did this bring up for you? I hope you'll reply and tell me about it.
π Microdoses of Wisdom
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"The cure for the pain is in the pain."β Rumi
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β β"You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness."β β Jonathan Safran Foer β
John Robertsonβ βPsychedelic Facilitator & Educator Webdelics' Top 100 Psychedelic Thought Leaders and Content Creatorsβ 2025β βMaps of the Mindβ
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