The day someone told me my feelings weren’t facts, I was furious. They were right.
The first time I heard it, I was beside myself.
Feelings are not facts. Someone said that to me — plainly, without apology — and I felt the words land like an accusation. But what I am feeling is real, I thought. How can anyone tell me otherwise? The hurt I felt in that moment was, in its own way, proof. I am feeling this. Right now. How is that not a fact?
But they said it anyway. And there I was — hurt that someone had suggested my hurt wasn’t always true.
What happened next surprised me. I started to question my feelings. Not to dismiss them — but to look at them more carefully. To ask what was underneath them. To notice the gap between what had happened and what I had decided it meant.
And that, as it turns out, was one of the most useful things I have ever done.
Here is what I have come to understand: my perception of people, places, situations — it is real. It is genuinely what I am seeing. But perception is not the same as truth. What I feel is not always the full picture. It is my view of the picture. And views can be limited, colored by fear, shaped by old stories I have been carrying longer than I realize.
Feelings are signals. They are worth listening to. They are not always worth believing without question.