Two Things Can Be True at the Same Time

For some reason, I grew up thinking you couldn’t be happy and sad, loving and angry, compassionate but completely over it. I don’t know where I picked up that idea, but somewhere along the way, I believed it to be true. Throughout my life, both personally and professionally, I’ve realized I was very wrong.

You can have two feelings at the same time.

There are people in my life whom I love but don’t particularly like sometimes. There are days when I am so exhausted that I’m ready to quit being a mom, while also knowing I have never loved anyone or anything more in my entire life. I can love my husband deeply and still count down the days until he goes away for a few days. One feeling doesn’t make the other less true.

We can’t always control how we feel. What we can control is what we do with those feelings. I often have this conversation early in therapy, especially with people who aren’t used to talking openly about their relationships. They’ll say something negative about someone they love and immediately follow it with a disclaimer:

“But she really is a good mom.”

“I swear, I love my husband.”

“I feel terrible saying that because he’s done so much for me.”

Almost as if acknowledging anger, resentment, disappointment, or frustration somehow erases the love. It doesn’t. You don’t have to prove that someone is a bad person in order to be hurt by them. You don’t have to stop loving someone in order to be angry with them. And you don’t have to talk yourself out of a feeling simply because another feeling seems to contradict it. Sometimes the work is actually allowing yourself to feel both.

I love this person, and I am angry.

I know they meant well, and I wish they had handled it differently.

I love being a mother, and sometimes I desperately want everyone to stop saying “Mom” for ten minutes.

I love my husband, and sometimes I am thrilled when he leaves the house. (And I’m fairly certain the feeling is occasionally mutual.)

That little word “and” can make a big difference. We often use “but” to erase whatever came before it.

I’m angry, but I love her.

What happens if you change it to:

I’m angry, and I love her.

Neither feeling has to win.

Feelings don't require immediate action

This is another important part. Allowing yourself to feel something doesn't mean you have to do something about it immediately. Sometimes a feeling is simply information. Instead of immediately trying to make it go away, justify it, or decide what it means about the relationship, we can get curious about it.

Why am I feeling this way?

Has something been building?

Is there something I need that I'm not getting?

Is this a temporary reaction, or is this a pattern?

Do I need to communicate something, set a boundary, change an expectation—or maybe just take a break?

That’s very different from deciding that because you're angry, the relationship must be bad.

Give yourself permission to be complicated

We extend this idea far beyond relationships. You can be excited about a new opportunity and terrified of it. You can know you made the right decision and still grieve what you left behind. You can be grateful for your life and still want parts of it to change. You can be proud of your child and frustrated with their behavior. You can forgive someone and still decide you don't want the relationship to be what it once was. You can understand someone and still disagree with them. You can be compassionate toward someone else's struggles while also deciding that you have reached your limit.

Compassion and boundaries can exist at the same time, too.

Maybe emotional health isn't about getting all of our feelings to line up neatly. Maybe it's becoming more comfortable with the fact that they often don't. So the next time you catch yourself thinking, “How can I feel this way about someone I love?”—You can. You’re allowed to. Two things can be true at the same time.