(And Why It’s Never Just One Thing)
Now feels like the right time to ask: what are feelings, really?
We all recognize the basics, positive and negative emotions, the fact that they “feel” like something. But what does that actually mean? What is a feeling?We throw around the word feeling like we all agree on what it means. But most of us never pause to ask: What is a feeling?
At first glance, we treat it like a single event. “I feel sad.” “I’m angry.” “I feel nothing.” But dig a little deeper and it becomes clear: a feeling is not one thing. It’s a system. A symphony. A loop.
What we call a “feeling” is the result of four forces working in unison:
Thought → Sensation → Chemistry → Emotion.
They arise together, instantly and inseparably. Each one is tangled with the others, impossible to isolate except by language and the reductionist bias of modern science.
A thought emerges, conscious or subconscious. That thought sparks a sensation in the body: pressure in the chest, tightness in the throat, heat rising in the face. The nervous system reacts, and a chemical response floods our bloodstream, dopamine, adrenaline, cortisol, oxytocin, serotonin, the alphabet soup of our inner weather.
Those chemicals reinforce more thoughts. Those thoughts amplify more sensations. And then comes the outward expression: The Emotion. From the Latin emovere, to move out, emotion is the final act in the loop. It’s the movement of all that internal energy being released through the body. A tear. A scream. A posture. A smile. Emotion is the verb, the visible consequence of everything stirring inside.
In this way, emotion isn’t just a “feeling” in your heart, it’s the body’s response to a psychological, physiological, and chemical story unfolding in real time.
Think of heartbreak: The trigger might be rejection. The feeling may register as shame. But what really happens is a chain reaction: a spike in stress hormones, a clenching of muscles, a flood of memories, a narrowing of attention, and then, finally, a wave of sadness that pours out as tears, silence, or fury.
Most of us only notice that final act. We call that the feeling. But the real power lies in seeing the whole loop.
Why does this matter?
Because when we’re stuck, grieving, raging, craving, panicking, we often try to manage emotions in isolation. But that’s like trying to stop a flood by yelling at the rain. Instead, we can follow the water upstream:
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What was the thought?
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What was the sensation?
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What’s happening in my chemistry?
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And how is all of this expressed as emotion?
When we understand the loop, we stop being victims of it. We become observers, participants, and eventually, creators. We can learn to pause. To breathe. To choose.
And from that place, even the most overwhelming emotions become not enemies to fear, but waves to surf.
This doesn’t mean we bypass or suppress emotion. Quite the opposite. It means we learn how to ride it all the way in. We begin to feel in full color, not just the sadness or rage, but the thousands of threads beneath it. The tangled causes. The hidden chemistry. The aching beauty of being alive in a body with a history.
So the next time you say, “I feel sad,” pause and ask: What’s the thought? What’s the sensation? What’s happening in my chemistry? And how am I moving it outward?
That awareness won’t solve everything, but it’s the beginning of mastery. Not control. Not perfection. But presence.
And in presence, we begin to heal.
Breathing and nervous system regulation are explored in much greater depth in Volume Two. This section is not meant to fully teach the practice, but given the painful emotional territory we are moving through in this book, I did not want to leave you without something practical and stabilizing. Consider this a bridge. Enough to steady you. Enough to keep you present. The deeper work comes later.
Now that we have explored the full loop, Thought → Sensation → Chemistry → Emotion, a door opens.
It is the door to choice.
Even a small glimpse of this internal pattern allows the higher self, what I call the inner observer, the quiet presence behind the chaos, to intervene in a new way. Not to repress emotion. Not to override it. But to regulate it. To soften its edge. To help us stay conscious in the storm.
And the most powerful tool for doing that is the breath.
Breathing is the only function of the autonomic nervous system we can consciously influence. You cannot slow your heartbeat by willpower. You cannot command digestion to behave. But you can slow your breath. You can deepen it, shape the inhale, extend the exhale, and in doing so send a powerful signal to the body: we are safe. We are calm. We are here.
That signal does not just interrupt the old stress loop. It begins to rewire it.
Instead of:
Thought → Sensation → Chemistry → Emotion → Reaction
We now have:
Thought → Sensation → Chemistry → Conscious Breathing → Nervous System Regulation → Manageable Emotion.
The breath becomes the pivot point.
In the old pattern, emotional reactivity often arrives alongside shallow, erratic, or frozen breathing. Under stress or fear, the chest tightens, the breath is held, or breathing turns fast and jittery. This reinforces anxiety chemistry and prepares the body for fight, flight, or freeze, even when the danger is psychological rather than real.
That is how we stay stuck:
Thought → Sensation → Chemistry → Shallow Breathing → Emotional Explosion → Impulsive or Compulsive Behavior.
With training, this loop can change.
When conscious, steady breathing becomes familiar, especially under pressure, a new default forms:
Thought → Sensation → Chemistry → Calm Breathing → Emotional Regulation → Conscious Action.
This is not a quick fix. Like learning an instrument, breathing well takes repetition until it becomes accessible during stress. The goal is not emotional depthlessness. The goal is reliability. An inner tool that prevents overwhelm without suppressing real feeling.
Good breathing is not denial. It is channeling. Like redirecting floodwater into a safer path rather than letting it destroy everything it touches.
When we breathe with awareness, the body gets the message: this moment is survivable. We are present. We can choose.
So breathe. Breathe like your sanity depends on it. Because sometimes it does.
One last thing to hold gently: what we call a mood is often just an unprocessed feeling. Moods are physical experiences as much as mental ones. The body holds them the way it holds warmth, tension, softness, or pressure. Change the breath, and the body begins to change how that feeling lives inside you.