Sometimes we numb what we cannot name...
On the vital importance of nourishing and naming our needs
To admit you needed something. In the world of my growing up, it was considered weak or inconsiderate. Usually both.
But figuring something out. Making it work. Powering through. Adjusting yourself into the shape of the hour, this was what real strength looked like.
At least, this is the message I got that some days I’m still untangling. It was passed down to me like an old ashtray.
As I was writing the prompts and reflections for our Prompt & Ponder members last week on the word nourish, I knew I wanted to write more around this idea and share it with all of you.
It feels important right now. And it has been another gloriously stormy afternoon, which means my gardening has been pushed back until tomorrow morning.
Real-life example.
Case in point, I hauled almost 100 lbs of dirt and mulch this week. One bucket at a time. It was both a workout and meditation. But when the next big mulch delivery came yesterday, I made sure to meet the driver, and he kindly placed mulch in the backyard for me.
I named my need. It got nourished.
Here’s me laying down my first box bed garden for fall vegetables. If we haven’t met in person, you might not know I move through the world on one leg and crutches.
Last week, I scribbled in my journal:
I do not want a mass-produced life. I don’t want a life defined by what Amazon can deliver.
I want a curated life filled with artisan treasures made by hand. A life where DIY solutions are my first impulse, not my last. A world crafted from the joy of frayed edges and imperfections worn like badges of honor.
Sunsets and turnip greens growing in my yard. Hot cups of tea, paint-splattered clothes, whimsical details, and poetry books. These things nourish my being.
A few years ago I landed on a terrifying yet fascinating documentary on YouTube where anthropologists went into middle-class family homes and documented how many items each home had and studied the relationship the people had with their belongings. (Click the superscript 1 or scroll to the bottom if you’d like to watch it for yourself.)1
On average, each home in the study had upwards of 300,000 items. That was 11 years ago. I would dare say it would be far higher now thanks to online access, the ease of delivery, and social media consumption trends.
We do not need every color of every trend that appears in our feeds. Says the woman who breaks that rule when it comes to emotional support art supplies. 🧐
We live in a culture that trains us to consume things that do not actually nourish us.
Numbed-out people always need more of what numbs them. But when we are truly nourished and cared for, we are no longer nearly as susceptible to the 1001 ads we are bombarded by.
I am equally convinced we are often trained to numb the needs we cannot name because it is deeply difficult to truly nourish a need without a name.
Brené Brown, in her book Atlas of the Heart, emphasizes that developing an emotional vocabulary is crucial because it allows us to understand, move through, and heal from our experiences, and that journey ultimately shapes our reality.
She quotes Ludwig Wittgenstein in the statement "the limits of my language mean the limits of my world".2 In other words, the language we have access to to describe our feelings not only communicates them, it also shapes our experience of them.
I don’t have a scientific study to back this up, but I would venture to say the same is true for our needs. And as many needs are emotional in nature, it’s double the impact.
I know I wasn’t given an emotional vocabulary to express my feelings. It took a decade of therapy to discover the permission to feel them. And I’ve been building a vocabulary through literature, poetry, research, brain science, and art much of my adult life.
Consumption isn’t just about stuff. It’s about stories.
We become the stories we internalize and surround ourselves with.
These stories can become echo chambers, especially in today’s media environment.
Do the stories we take in primarily numb us or help us to name and nourish the needs we have?
What would it look like to replace overconsumption with open compassion that creates space for wonder and curiosity?
Would love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
In case you’d like to watch it for yourself… may I present:
https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/11756366-the-limits-of-my-language-mean-the-limits-of-my
SUCH a timely message, thank you for sharing it. In so many ways I am on a similar journey. But as I wrestle with a season of challenging emotions and uncertainty, I feel that tug to go back to the old quick- fixes. Thank you for a nudge to resist the wastefulness of consumption for its own sake, and to acknowledge and re-acknowledge my heart’s deeper needs.