Swimming Through Emotions

I was chatting with a group of coaches and the topic turned to emotional frequencies. I am no scholar on this, but I will summarize by saying I have personally found value in identifying what frequency I am operating from and attempting to raise it to higher.

As the conversation went on, there were great insights about giving ourselves grace in the process, and acknowledging the large gaps that can exist between where we want to be and where we find ourselves (and it may take incremental changes to reach our goal state).

I thought about triggers (or people) that easily jolt me emotionally downward, and circumstances (or people) that elevate my mood. 

An image came to my mind of a swimming pool. And with that image, a story.

I hope you like metaphors 

(and puns) 

because we are diving in... 

I am not a strong swimmer. Never have been. I can get across a pool, but that's about it before I need a break, or a flotation device. I swim sort of like an injured frog, and I don't like going underwater.

One majorly scary thing that can happen to me when swimming is someone else grabbing onto me for support. I'm barely staying afloat as it is, people! 

This is sort of how I was looking at the sliding levels of emotional frequency. I was just learning to swim by experimenting and learning ways to raise my own frequency with coaching and such. All I needed was one poorly timed negative comment and I might find myself drowning in anger, fear, apathy, etc.

In short, I thought my frequency depended largely on what everyone else was doing.

Just when I'd learned a new stroke to navigate the waters of life, a wave would hit me in the face and I'd want to give up. Perhaps enlightenment and peace were overrated, and I will try and just maintain neutrality instead.

Little by little, the muscles grew. I found myself swimming in deeper waters. Riding the waves with less trepidation, more awareness of what was safe and possible for me, and where I needed to get help. Other people's actions made smaller waves. I could swim without getting caught in the wake.

Now and again I feel the familiar pull of something that might pull me underwater. Someone who might tempt me to submerge. What is different, however, is that my own muscles are strong enough that I can generally stay afloat. Or at least help me get back above the surface more quickly. 

Someone else's mood/frequency doesn't sink me as easily as it once did. I can still be helpful and compassionate without lowering my emotional frequency. I can pause and decide if I'd like to point the way to shore, share a swimming technique, throw out a life preserver, or just keep moving toward my own destination. 

Nothing has to compromise my own ability stay out of the downward whirlpool if I don't want it to. I am a strong swimmer now.

Metaphorically, of course.