If you’ve been following along the past few weeks, we’ve talked about a lot of emotional complexity—trusting yourself again after a big change, letting go of a future you didn’t get, embracing the in-between space of becoming. So maybe it’s no surprise that this week I want to talk about emotional duality.

Specifically, the permission to feel two things at once.

Because I don’t know about you, but I’ve often struggled with the guilt that comes from feeling joy when I’m supposed to be grieving. Or feeling sadness when everyone else expects me to be happy. There’s this unspoken rule that says we need to pick a lane. That if we’re healing, we shouldn’t still hurt. That if we’re grateful, we shouldn’t also be frustrated. That if we’re moving forward, we shouldn’t look back.

But that’s not how real life works.

We’ve been navigating what it means to evolve, to trust ourselves again, and to let go of expectations that no longer serve us. But along the way, something sneaky tends to show up: the pressure to make our emotions neat and linear. The idea that progress has to look polished. That once we’ve committed to healing, we’re not allowed to look back. It’s frankly a ridiculous kind of shame that creeps in, and it’s time we talk about it.

I remember during my first major loss, I laughed one night watching a movie. And then immediately felt like I had done something wrong. How could I laugh? Didn’t that mean I was forgetting? Didn’t that mean I didn’t care?

Of course not. But that’s what grief does. It complicates things. It doesn’t show up cleanly or on schedule. And neither does healing.

Here’s what I want to say clearly:

You can be hopeful about your future and still miss what was.

You can be excited about what’s next and still carry fear.

You can love your life and still long for the one you had before.

This isn’t about being stuck. It’s about being honest.

Human beings are complex people with complex emotions. And the reality is, healing isn’t about choosing one emotion and silencing all the rest. It’s about making space for the whole experience.

Some days I still grieve the way I used to hear, even as I’m excited to keep learning with my cochlear implant. Some days I still wish I had my old life, even as I’m pursuing a new one. I can be deeply grateful and still occasionally frustrated by what I’ve lost. That doesn’t make me ungrateful—it makes me human.

Giving ourselves permission to feel both joy and sorrow isn’t just compassionate—it’s necessary. When we deny one emotion in favor of another, we end up disconnected from our experience. We miss opportunities for integration. For growth. For meaning. When we learn to hold both, we stop performing healing and start living it.

I had another moment like that more recently. As I mentioned a few weeks ago, we were closing out a show and I was excited about the cast and the audience was really receptive. I was having such a great time, but then it hit me that the show was over, and I’d be saying goodbye to these people and I’d have the end of show blues. Both emotions existed at the same time. Neither canceled out the other. That moment reminded me again of how deeply layered our emotional lives can be.

So what do we do with this emotional duality?

Well, we honor it. We name it. We let ourselves feel it.

And if you need a little help doing that, here are a few reminders:

• Both things can be true. You don’t have to pick one emotion to legitimize your experience. You’re allowed to say, “I feel joy and sadness.” “I feel strong and afraid.” “I feel peace and pain.”
• Guilt is not a requirement for feeling good. It’s okay to laugh again. It’s okay to find love again. It’s okay to enjoy a moment, even when not everything is perfect.
• You don’t owe anyone emotional consistency. You can feel differently today than you did yesterday. You’re not a contradiction—you’re evolving.
• You’re not doing it wrong. However you’re feeling—whether it’s one emotion or ten—is valid. Your experience is yours. And you don’t have to explain it to anyone who hasn’t lived it.

If that resonates with you, take a moment to name what you’re holding right now. Write it down. Say it out loud. You don’t need to fix it—you just need to let it be real. That’s where healing begins.

I want to leave you with this:

If you’re laughing again after loss, it doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten.

If you’re crying even in a moment of joy, it doesn’t mean you’re broken.

If you’re still grieving and still growing, you’re doing it right.

What’s something you’ve been feeling lately that seems contradictory?

Let’s talk about it. Because there’s nothing wrong with holding both.