Hello, “Disappointment.” Shall We Make Peace?

Come, let’s take a closer look at the feeling I’ve been avoiding—disappointment. The one I’ve evaded, the one that keeps me from forming deep connections. Let’s sit with it for a while. Perhaps it will reveal itself to us, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll have a little chat.

Emotions have always been tricky companions for me. Since childhood, they’ve been the energies that my mind has drawn sharp lines around—what I want, what I don’t want. They’ve often landed me in trouble, especially when I couldn’t express them clearly, suppressing them instead or finding other ways to release them. Perhaps this is something many of us share.

In every phase of life, I find myself confronted by a new emotion. I wrestle with it, then eventually welcome it into my emotional repertoire, expanding my capacity. It’s like meeting a child for the first time—sometimes I’m struck by how unfamiliar it feels, other times by how much I’ve neglected or excluded it.

Today, the emotion taking the stage is disappointment. As I write, I’m struck by the word itself—it feels light, almost airy. But its weight, its depth, is undeniable. Perhaps this disconnect reflects the distance I’ve maintained from it all along. Writing has always been my space for healing, a way to pour out my thoughts, face myself, and find understanding. And so, here we are: Hello, disappointment. You are a strong yet delicate feeling. How you’ve managed to stay hidden for so long, I don’t know.

You often knock on the doors of those who see life through rose-colored glasses, don’t you? You’ve certainly visited me frequently. I remember a coaching session when I realized that labeling people as "good" was my way of shielding myself from you. An article I once read, titled “Don’t Call Me Good,” cracked this door open for me.

Why did I insist on calling people good? To deny your existence, of course. To avoid and dismiss you. When I labeled someone “good,” I unconsciously assigned them qualities of perfection—selflessness, ethics, compassion—and boxed them into a pedestal. I treated them like porcelain dolls, denying them the luxury of being their authentic selves. I see now how this distanced me from their fuller lives and experiences, how it created a divide. They’d tread lightly around me, testing the waters in other friendships, apologizing for their mistakes. "I didn’t want you to see this side of me," they’d say. What a prison I built—not just for them, but for myself as well.

I caged myself in the same cell: a person not allowed to make mistakes, who had to do everything perfectly, always. Nobody could criticize, scold, or hurt me because I had created this facade of perfection to protect myself. But what a lonely fortress it was.

Because I was afraid—afraid of disappointment, both experiencing it and causing it. I’ve learned that emotions have two dimensions: how they affect us and how they impact others. Disappointment isolated me, held me back from living deeply, and kept me from surrendering to life’s flow. Beneath behaviors like self-sacrifice, overcompensation, and people-pleasing, I find that the fear of disappointment fuels it all.

I couldn’t bear to disappoint others, nor could I tolerate being disappointed. The mere presence of disappointment felt like a stain on my clean slate of emotions. When I sensed its approach, I’d retreat, refusing to engage in the game.

But is there any game in life without disappointment? Is there any game without mistakes? None. And so, my solution has been to create my own game, where I control the players and exclude anyone who might bring disappointment. It’s a temporary fix, of course. The real challenge is accepting disappointment, understanding it, and making space for it—because denying it only deprives me of life’s fullness.

For a while, I sought help from the compassion born of dharma. When I felt disappointment, I’d tell myself, “They just don’t know,” and grant others grace. I opened a new space for them to exist, even when they hurt me. But this, too, was an extreme. By excusing their behavior, I took away their responsibility, their opportunity to learn and grow.

I’d then turn that blame inward. “How could I not see this coming? How could I let this happen?” I’d beat myself up every time, as if disappointment could only end in self-criticism.

What I needed, though, was to sit with disappointment, as I once did with anxiety in a Gestalt coaching session. This morning, I decided to coach myself.

Hello, disappointment. I see you, and I accept your presence. You are a challenging emotion, light in name but heavy in experience. Yet, you remind me of something important: that I am human, that I can make mistakes, that I might disappoint others, and that trying to please everyone is a prison for my soul.

Let’s make a deal. When I see you, I’ll acknowledge you. I’ll sit with you, listen to your message without taking it personally. Perhaps together we’ll make some mistakes, allow for a little messiness. And after a deep silence, we’ll say, “So, this exists too.” Maybe then you’ll become my companion on this journey.

What do you say?

4o