I swear emotional denial owns me harder than any ex ever did. Right now I’m cross-legged on my couch in this boring Cleveland suburb, radiator banging like it wants to fight, and I just lied to my best friend with a straight “I’m good” after I ghosted a guy because feelings scared the shit out of me. Cold lo mein hangs out of my mouth while my chest feels like someone parked a truck on it. That’s emotional denial doing its thing—again.
How Emotional Denial Actually Runs My Life
Last month I bumped into my ex at Giant Eagle and my body instantly screamed danger while my mouth spat out, “Wow, so crazy, I’m doing amazing!” My smartwatch legit asked if I needed medical help. That moment showed emotional denial in HD—heart pounding, palms dripping, but I still played it cooler than a cucumber in a freezer.
That Time I Swore I Wasn’t Jealous and Almost Combusted
My friend got engaged. I double-tapped every ring pic like a supportive robot while I googled “is nausea normal when someone else wins at life.” I told everyone—including the reflection in my bathroom mirror—that pure joy filled me. Then I speed-ordered a $70 candle and demolished a whole sleeve of Oreos in my parked car. Peak emotional denial behavior.
Look, I did this:
- Congratulated her 47 times
- Venmo’d her honeymoon fund like a champ
- Redownloaded Hinge at 2 a.m. out of pure spite
- Let the shower hide my tears (classic move)
Why I Keep Choosing Emotional Denial Like a Dummy
Science says my brain mistakes emotional denial for safety (super fun discovery). Researchers at Yale actually studied this crap and found we suppress emotions to avoid short-term pain, even when it screws us long-term (read the study here if you also hate yourself: https://www.yale.edu/news-press-release/suppressing-emotions-can-lead-long-term-mental-health-issues). My therapist calls it a trauma response in a “grown-up” costume. Same trick that got me through my parents’ divorce at 14 now convinces me I feel zero when a guy I like calls someone else “babe” on his story.
Admitting I feel something huge terrifies me because then I might have to act on it. Action means risk. Risk means someone could wreck me. And we all know what I look like at 3 a.m. reading old texts with one eye open because the other one’s too puffy.
My Pathetic Little Attempts to Stop the Emotional Denial Train
I’ve tried everything, okay?
- Journaling → turns into forensic emoji analysis
- Meditation apps → I drool and call it enlightenment
- Saying the truth out loud → told a guy I missed him once and he hit me with “lol.” Never again.
But lately I force myself to do this mirror thing Brene Brown keeps yelling about (yeah, I finally read Daring Greatly when I was drunk on Target wine—here’s the book if you also want to cry in public: https://brenébrown.com/book/daring-greatly/). I stare at my blotchy face and mutter, “You’re sad and that’s allowed.” I almost puke from the vulnerability, but something shifts. Tiny bit. Still hate it.
Yeah, Emotional Denial and I Are Basically Married (But I’m Filing Papers)
I’ll probably always default to “I’m fine”—it’s tattooed on my Midwestern soul deeper than my love for ranch. But now I catch the lie before it flies out. I notice the chest squeeze and sometimes—sometimes—I don’t immediately open TikTok or chug wine (okay, usually both, but less).
If emotional denial is your security blanket too, you’re not broken. You just learned early that feelings can stab you in the ribs. Unlearning that sucks absolute ass. Zero stars. But I’m doing it anyway, one cringe mirror confession at a time.
Anyway. Gotta go text my therapist that I wrote this instead of doom-scrolling. Progress, I guess.
Tell me in the comments the dumbest thing emotional denial ever made you do. I need solidarity before I yeet this whole post and pretend I feel nothing—like always.
