Sadness is a Tantrum

Listening to Byron Katie on Rosie Radio (Sirius/XM) yesterday, I heard her say, "Sadness is a tantrum." I stopped to think how much sadness I've felt in my life. Then I thought about tantrums and how my mother despised seeing children in stores throwing tantrums. Were my feelings of sadness my attempts at throwing tantrums?

I don't know that I ever tried to throw a tantrum, but I know there would have been absolutely no way she would have allowed it. My children, likewise, didn't throw tantrums, but had they, I would have attempted to immediately stop it. My life as a mother was patterned upon my mother's practices—on the whole, not a very well-designed pattern.

During my years in psychotherapy in my 30s, my therapist said she was not surprised that I became a computer programmer. There was little in my life I was allowed to control, but as a programmer, I could control the computer.

Much of my sadness as an adult has centered around being alone and not having life turn out the way I expected, dreamed, or wanted. Sadness would wash over me as a marriage was ending, or when I felt life was hopeless. It would feel like a heavy, dark boiled wool hooded cape. Heavy. Dark.

The only sadnesses I've felt lately are when I feel I've disappointed someone. All in all, life now—in my 60s—has turned into a very different movie than I ever anticipated.

How unnecessary is sadness in your life?

I'll leave you with a Byron Katie quote regarding happiness:

You don't have to believe everything your thoughts tell you. Just become familiar with the particular thoughts you use to deprive yourself of happiness.