Emotional Roomba
The morning after we moved our middle son into his apartment in Los Angeles, I woke up with a jumbled mass of thoughts and emotions crowding my mind. It was a weird mix of excitement, happiness, sadness, nostalgia, exhaustion, and trepidation. This influx of feelings wasn’t a great blend for breakfast, especially after sharing the seventh hotel room in ten days with my husband and teenage son as we traveled across the country. Moreover, I hadn’t been alone since we left Virginia and had no margin to process all of the swirling sentiments.
Overwhelmed before I even got out of bed, my thoughts turned to the weird, robotic vacuum cleaner back at home, called a Roomba. At the push of a button, the small, round machine rolls around the house, methodically sucking up all the dust and debris that humans leave behind. When full, it wheels itself back onto its home base, where its contents are efficiently sucked up into a canister. Then, freshly emptied, it returns to wherever it left off, continuing to clean up anything in its path.
As I got ready that morning to return to my son’s new apartment to say goodbye, I wished that I had a Roomba for my mind. Instead, I tried to push the emotions to a back corner because time was short. I didn’t want to cry or ruin the send off with sentimentality; the day wasn’t about me. But I could have benefited from an extended session of prayer, contemplation, journal writing, and maybe phoning a friend.
The emotional situation intensified as I drove our rental car on the Los Angeles freeway system through the typical heavy traffic, unsure of the directions. Meanwhile, my husband and youngest son seemed calm and jovial, not visibly weighted down by any powerful emotions. In juxtaposition to my internal turmoil, their peaceful demeanors made me feel like we lived on two different planes of reality. Blended into my mixed emotions was the knowledge that this son would soon be heading to college, ushering in a new season for me.
I tried to play along and pretend that I was okay too because if I started sharing how I felt, I knew the crying would commence. And if they said the “wrong” thing, the waterworks would only intensify. This was a happy day; I would deal with my mixed-up feelings later.
Despite all experience to the contrary, I actually thought this would work. I believed I could manage by simply sweeping my swirling and contradictory feelings under the rug of my heart and carrying on. But feelings are often impatient and demanding, finding subtle and obvious ways to get attention when ignored. Somehow, I had forgotten that this had proven to be a recipe for disaster in the past. However, it didn’t take long to remember because my phone stopped speaking the directions at a critical juncture on the highway, and when my family didn’t respond in the way I asked them to, I lost it.
Oh, how handy an emotional Roomba would have been at that moment. My tangled feelings had built up like a layer of dust bunnies on my heart, and I couldn’t contain the sneeze. If only I could have rolled onto a home station, dumped all the feelings, and returned to a state in which I was ready and able to deal calmly with any subsequent debris that came my way. Because the next part – the part where people react to the outburst, often in ways that heighten tension even more – can lead to an even bigger mess.
Managing the plethora of conflicting feelings that come each day in life is one of the most challenging parts of being a Christian for me, both at home and in the world. Even when I start the day with a sense of internal equilibrium, my apple cart can suddenly be upended by bad news, a rude stranger, a grumpy family member, a terrible driver, or unexpected circumstances. Keeping those emotions from boiling over in ways that dishonor God, myself, or others is a worthwhile goal, but easier said than done.
Feelings can’t be sucked up in a vacuum cleaner because humans are not machines. And how awful it would be to lose the very things that add all the colorful layers to humanity. Those emotions that we fight so hard to control are not curses but gifts – having them is one of the most important ways we are designed in God’s image. He created us to feel and give love, and we aren’t meant to dispose of our feelings into a vacuum.
But often, what we vent out most is not love but frustration, irritability, withdrawal, or anger. I don’t think I am alone in the struggle – I see it in my family members, as they deal with work stresses, world events, and day-to-day frustrations. I see it in friends as they navigate the everyday issues of life. And I see it in strangers as they drive aggressively, write angry posts on social media, or complain bitterly to store clerks.
In a perfect world, regularly doing the things that help mediate and regulate emotions (like rest, reading the Bible, praying, eating healthy meals, communicating clearly, etc.) helps. But oftentimes, despite taking those steps, unexpected situations like the “Los Angeles Freeway Incident of 2021” occur. After that episode, which threatened to overshadow a special day, I felt dejected. After so many experiences meant to mature me and help me navigate such times, why did such outbursts still happen? Why couldn’t I regulate my emotions better in all situations?
My family and I somewhat recovered from the regrettable highway incident that day. I managed not to slobber and cry during the goodbye with my son. But I want to grow from what happened and figure out how to live with emotional debris without sneezing it onto others when there is neither time nor space to process or regroup.
I’ve been praying about this – asking God to deepen my emotional maturity. When I’m in a situation that doesn’t allow time to think, retreat, process, pray or thoughtfully respond, I want to be better equipped. Even when the escalation is fueled by other people or circumstances I didn’t expect, I want to react in a God-honoring way rather than from the hotbed of sentiment. I want to become better at recognizing rapidly rising emotional dust levels before I burst. No matter how stuffed my tank becomes, I want my automatic response to be informed by love, patience, grace, and self-control. What a lovelier witness it would be for those godly things to spill out of me rather than my ungodly human reactions.
Despite advances in technology, I don’t foresee ever having a Roomba for emotions, and that is for the best. Instead, I am turning to God with mine and asking for help. I know He patiently waits for me to return to the home base every day and give it all to Him, but I don’t always do it. And maybe, taking a cue from King David, Job, and even Jesus Himself, it’s time to start talking more honestly with God about this side of myself.
Since that sad moment on the California highway, I have been reminding myself of Philippians 1:6. Just as God will complete the good work He started in the son I left in California, He will also complete the work He began in me. I’m not fully mature; I’m still a work in progress. In the meantime, even if I can’t seem to exercise emotional control in all circumstances, I will at least try to exercise greater wisdom and stay off the Los Angeles freeway system for a while.