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I hope you had a pleasant summer: mine was not. The very day we were supposed to be take a vacation, I was stationed in A&E with my husband, anticipating him to have urgent but routine surgery, which resulted in our vacation arrangements had to be cancelled.

From this episode I realized a truth valuable, all over again, about how difficult it is for me to experience sadness when things go wrong. I’m not talking about profound crises, but the more everyday, quietly devastating disappointments that – if we don't actually feel them – will truly burden us.

When we were meant to be on holiday but were not, I kept feeling a tug towards seeking optimism: “I can {book a replacement trip|schedule another vacation|arrange a different getaway”; “At least we have {travel insurance|coverage for trips|protection for journeys”; “This’ll give me {something to write about|material for an article|content for a story”. But I didn't improve, just a bit depressed. And then I would confront the reality that this holiday was permanently lost: my husband’s surgery required frequent painful bandage replacements, and there is a limited time window for an enjoyable break on the shores of Belgium. So, no getaway. Just discontent and annoyance, pain and care.

I know worse things can happen, it’s only a holiday, such a fortunate concern to have – I know because I tried that line too. But what I required was to be truthful to myself. In those moments when I was able to cease resisting the disappointment and we addressed it instead, it felt like we were going through something together. Instead of experiencing sadness and trying to appear happy, I’ve given myself permission all sorts of unwanted feelings, including but not limited to hostility and displeasure and aversion and wrath, which at least appeared genuine. At times, it even became possible to appreciate our moments at home together.

This brought to mind of a wish I sometimes see in my counseling individuals, and that I have also witnessed in myself as a individual in analysis: that therapy could in some way erase our difficult moments, like clicking “undo”. But that option only points backwards. Acknowledging the reality that this is unattainable and embracing the sorrow and anger for things not happening how we anticipated, rather than a insincere positive spin, can enable a shift: from avoidance and sadness, to development and opportunity. Over time – and, of course, it does take time – this can be life-changing.

We consider depression as experiencing negativity – but to my mind it’s a kind of dulling of all emotions, a suppressing of frustration and sorrow and frustration and delight and vitality, and all the rest. The opposite of depression is not happiness, but acknowledging every sentiment, a kind of truthful emotional spontaneity and release.

I have repeatedly found myself trapped in this urge to reverse things, but my little one is assisting me in moving past it. As a first-time mom, I was at times burdened by the amazing requirements of my infant. Not only the nourishing – sometimes for a lengthy period at a time, and then again less than an hour after that – and not only the changing, and then the changing again before you’ve even completed the task you were doing. These routine valuable duties among so many others – functionality combined with nurturing – are a solace and a great honor. Though they’re also, at moments, persistent and tiring. What surprised me the most – aside from the exhaustion – were the feelings requirements.

I had believed my most important job as a mother was to fulfill my infant's requirements. But I soon understood that it was impossible to meet all of my baby’s needs at the time she needed it. Her hunger could seem unmeetable; my nourishment could not arrive quickly, or it flowed excessively. And then we needed to alter her clothes – but she hated being changed, and cried as if she were falling into a shadowy pit of misery. And while sometimes she seemed soothed by the cuddles we gave her, at other times it felt as if she were distant from us, that no solution we provided could aid.

I soon discovered that my most key responsibility as a mother was first to survive, and then to support her in managing the overwhelming feelings provoked by the impossibility of my guarding her from all distress. As she enhanced her skill to consume and process milk, she also had to develop a capacity to process her feelings and her suffering when the nourishment was delayed, or when she was suffering, or any other challenging and perplexing experience – and I had to grow through her (and my) irritation, anger, hopelessness, aversion, letdown, craving. My job was not to guarantee smooth experiences, but to assist in finding significance to her feelings journey of things not going so well.

This was the distinction, for her, between being with someone who was seeking to offer her only positive emotions, and instead being supported in building a skill to acknowledge all sentiments. It was the difference, for me, between desiring to experience great about performing flawlessly as a flawless caregiver, and instead cultivating the skill to endure my own far-from-ideal-ness in order to do a adequately performed – and comprehend my daughter’s letdown and frustration with me. The difference between my trying to stop her crying, and understanding when she required to weep.

Now that we have evolved past this together, I feel less keenly the urge to hit “undo” and rewrite our story into one where everything goes well. I find hope in my sense of a ability evolving internally to recognise that this is unattainable, and to understand that, when I’m occupied with attempting to rearrange a trip, what I really need is to sob.