Must We Unravel the Cause of Our Sadness to Find a Happy Life?

Does everyone feel sadness without knowing its source?

I’m sad. I’m a bit embarrassed to say this. Millions of people would love my life.

I love my life.

Still, I’m sad. Damn, where did this sadness come from?

Oh, right, it’s always been here. Yet lately, it’s worse.

Like many, my deep pain is from childhood trauma.

My father ruled with an iron fist, believing that “sparing the rod spoiled the child.”

He was angry and took it out — physically on my sister and me. Luckily, our younger siblings got a reprieve. They were six years younger. Perhaps Dad became tired of hitting with his belt.

Because of that, I believed I needed to prove to him that I was a good girl, that I was okay and deserved his love. I tried for the next 20-plus years to win his acceptance.

I thought I was done with that. I figured it out, forgave him, and moved on.

But childhood trauma is deep-seated, and many of my current wounds have their roots in that youthful misery.

Since it seemed I could never make my father love me, I became a people-pleaser. I’m over that now, yet I think some of my sadness lies there.

Next up in the list of why I think I’m sad — regret over not attending college. Even though my father said I was “the smartest one of the bunch” (referring to his four children), he didn’t support my dream of attending art school.

He’d gone to art school and, after pursuing a career as an oil painter, had to desert it to support his growing family.

Was he trying to protect me? I doubt it. He believed women should be married and have children. Dear God.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I wanted that, too, and I did marry and have children — but I could’ve had both as millions of women have.

The marriage to the father of my children ended in divorce after 15 years. It was devastating, yet I survived, returned to work, and was able to support my children almost single-handedly.

Still, the thought that my children had to withstand the hurt of losing their dad in our home was crushing. I could see and feel their pain.

Regret is an awful cross to bear, and I believe it’s a source of my sadness in another area.

My first job was in an insurance office, and I excelled at it and was offered a promotion. This would entail a move to the home office in New York City. I lived across the Hudson River in New Jersey. My current office was a few miles from home. I used the convenience of my short drive vs. the hectic commute to New York to stay put.

Of course, it was fear that was holding me back, sensible or not.

I worked in several jobs where I didn’t push myself but was content to do good work and be a valued part of the company — but not a go-getter or goal-setter.

Could I have suffered from low self-esteem?

Dare I humiliate myself even further by telling you another reason I suspect is part of the cause of my sadness?

Here goes: Every love relationship I had was because I wanted to be rescued, respected, and loved endlessly.

Of course, I wasn’t aware of this during those years of seeking a savior.

I repeated this search for the man who would be “the one.” The one who would help me know how wonderful and lovable I was. Unfortunately, I hurt a few of them along the way when they failed me—they could not make me feel sufficiently loved and appreciated.

Through many years of deep contemplation, I finally allowed myself to admit this act of buffoonery.

Was I trying to find a loving, supportive father who adored his daughter? This pop-psychology answer is probably right on. Seems obvious now.

I have learned that no one can make me happy. No one can make me feel loved. I must love myself, and being happy is up to me.

All of these issues could be the cause of the sadness that descends on me several days a week.

I know I’ve got to feel the sadness, not ignore it. Feeling the sadness and slogging through it is the only way to the other side.

I’m always looking for the answer. Yet, I have accepted my sadness without having a solution or knowing, for sure, the source.

I love this Rumi quote:

The wound is the place where the light enters you.

My sadness is as much a part of me as my hazel eyes, fondness for chocolate, and love for my children and husband. It’s there, and I accept it.

Some have issues with work; others’ problems are with their spouses or children. None of them are to be minimized or negated.

We have fingerprints, DNA, and little quirks. Let’s accept all the myriad parts of us.

It could be helpful to discover the cause of our sadness, but it is not necessary to unravel it all to have a happy life.

First, be grateful that you have this life — sadness and all. We are put on earth to learn and enjoy life. Everyone wants this. Let’s do our best to be grateful for all we have and allow sadness to be a part of life.

We don’t need to find a happy life; we can design one despite our sadness.

My sadness is temporary and fluid. It is not depression. If you are depressed, please call your local mental health hotline or SAMHSA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Service Administration at 1–800–662-HELP (4357).