There’s Cartography in Every Scar: Emotions as Signposts

One of my favourite bands sings the line, “there’s cartography in every scar.” I’m not going to pretend I know exactly what they mean here – this is the same band that once sang, “every girl I ever kissed, I was thinking of a pro-footballer,” so it’s probably not worth looking for deeper meaning in every one of their lyrics – but these words say a lot to me.

Let me explain. Every day I work with people in pain – the pain of depression, trauma, grief, anger, anxiety, and more. And most of these people come into therapy with a similar goal: make it stop.

This often translates into working on skills, strategies, and tools to help manage the pain. There is a lot we can do to help with this – physical activity, coping skills, mindfulness, and medication can all bring significant relief. So it’s a good goal. But it’s often incomplete. If our sole aim is to cope with these feeling, we can easily miss out on what they are trying to tell us.

The Lighthouse

I come back to this quote a lot: “Uncomfortable emotions such as anger, guilt, or loneliness are like the guiding beam from a lighthouse: they warn you of dangers ahead and help you navigate a meaningful life more effectively,” says Susan David, the author of Emotional Agility. “Our difficult emotions aren’t just painful experiences that we need to tolerate. If we breathe into them for a moment, we’ll begin to see them as data that signposts our needs and values.”

In other words, there’s cartography in every scar.

In the midst of pain, it may seem unbelievable that anything of value could come from our hard, awful feelings, but they can carry vital information. Our emotions are signposts and trail markers, giving us crucial data about who we are, and what we need, opening up an opportunity to map a better and more authentic course for our lives. They are flashing lights, pointing us to what is missing in our lives, what needs are not being met, and - if we’re willing to listen - directing us to what might help.

It makes sense that we would come to therapy simply wanting relief from painful feelings – and no doubt this is a crucial part of the work - but these emotions don’t occur in a vacuum. In a culture that tends to view mental health challenges as strictly individualized medical issues, it’s easy to see these feelings as “the problem” and overlook the fact that in many cases they are symptoms of something else.

Author Johann Hari talks about this. "What if depression is, in fact, a form of grief—for our own lives not being as they should? What if it is a form of grief for the connections we have lost, yet still need?" he says in his book Lost Connections: Why You’re Depressed and How to Find Hope. He argues that depression is not primarily a medical issue, but the result of being disconnected from community, nature, meaningful work, and more. "You aren’t a machine with broken parts. You are an animal whose needs are not being met.” The implication is clear: if depression is a symptom of something missing from our lives, then treatment that focuses solely on coping with it will only go so far.

The Pink Elephant

Additionally, focusing exclusively on reducing, stopping or managing feelings can unintentionally reinforce them. If I tell you not to think of a pink elephant, chances are you will end up thinking about a pink elephant (a concept known as “the pink elephant paradox,” or “ironic process theory” if you prefer dull names). But if I tell you to think about baseball, the weather, or tacos, chances are better that you’ll stop thinking about that elephant.

Likewise, therapy that stays solely focused on the problem can actually backfire and reinforce it – you can end up feeling more depressed, anxious, or angry than when you started. But if we decipher what these feelings are pointing to – the covert hopes, preferences, or values hidden in the shadows of the emotion – then we can start to draw maps away from the problem, and towards something better. It’s shifting our focus from what’s wrong, to what’s possible, loosening the grip and reducing the intensity of the emotions, and opening up new paths for our lives at the same time.

Jill Freedman shares a client’s experience of this. “When I have a problem I usually go over it again and again and again. I think problem, problem, problem. These questions get me to think instead of what is important to me that has been violated. This is so much more helpful than problem, problem, problem. It’s a whole different path.”

The Absent-But-Implicit

In Narrative Therapy we call this “the absent-but-implicit.” It’s the idea that every complaint reflects an unspoken or hidden hope for something different. It’s the belief that the depression I feel, or the anxiety you’re struggling with are indicators that our needs are being unmet, or that we are living outside of our values or preferences for our lives, whether or not we are aware of what they are.

This is why that lyric resonates so deeply with me. I always think of therapy as map making or - to use the technical and lyrical term - cartography. In each encounter we are exploring what you feel to shed light on what is missing and where you want to go, and then using that information to plot a course to help you get there, step-by-step.

This will look wildly different from one person to the next. It could lead to reconnecting with family and friends. It could lead to a career change. It could lead to going on more walks, buying a car, adopting a cat, taking up piano, or waking up earlier. It could lead to making efforts to live more in line with our beliefs, values, and faiths. Because every client is unique, the possibilities are both endless and unpredictable.  

“When we show up to a difficult emotion like this, it no longer owns us. Rather, we are able to use the data our emotion provides and move courageously in the direction of our values with greater wisdom,” David says. This is where big change can happen. Your pain has a purpose and a message. It’s a signpost towards what’s missing in your life, and how to get back there.

There are maps within our feelings. There’s cartography in every scar.