About emotions in the Internet era

The other day, I was sitting in a taxi, scrolling through a friend’s WhatsApp updates. The first post I saw was about bombings in Gaza—frightened people, destroyed buildings, the kind of devastation that instantly hits the heart. My body responded before I could even think. I felt the sadness rise, a deep ache in my chest, and I could sense my face changing, frowning, tensing—just as my mother used to notice when I was a child watching the news. I’ve always been sensitive to suffering, even when I don’t know the people involved.

I sent my friend a crying emoji on his update.

Seconds later, another clip followed in the update. This time, it was a scene from a comedy film—something light, something that made me want to laugh. And I did… kind of. The laughter came, but the sadness didn’t leave. Then came another update about war… and then another sweet, funny video of cats.

All of this happened in under three minutes.

Grief, laughter, shock, tenderness.

A whole emotional symphony—while sitting in the back of a taxi.

I noticed it right away and I paused.

I closed my eyes and took a breath.

I sat with all of it.

I allowed myself to feel the heartbreak—for the people in Gaza, for the fear that must be living in their bones. I thought, maybe there’s a woman just like me somewhere—just trying to get where she needs to go in a taxi, wondering if she’ll make it safely. That thought stayed with me.

I also thought about all of us who are exposed to this kind of emotional turbulence every day. Newsfeeds… stories…reels. The algorithm doesn’t consider our nervous system—it just keeps going.

But we are not made for this.

Our ancestors would have never experienced this kind of emotional intensity in such short bursts. What we’re exposed to in a few minutes, they might have only witnessed in an entire lifetime. And here we are—scrolling through pain, joy, horror, and humour in a single breath. And our nervous systems can’t always tell the difference. They respond as if it’s happening to us, because in a way, it is. We care, deep down, most of us really do care.

Some of us built an armour to protect ourselves. We stop feeling because it’s simply too much, we go numb—not out of coldness, but out of overwhelm.

But I don’t think numbing is the answer.

What I believe—and what my body keeps teaching me—is that the way through is presence.

The way through is feeling.

But feeling with care, feeling with awareness.

That means learning how to process our emotions, and being mindful about what we allow in, without closing our hearts and disconnecting. It means pausing to notice when something stirs us. It means recognising when we’ve had enough.

Often, emotions don’t ask our permission. These accumulated emotions don’t just vanish, they accumulate in our body and they can come out in different forms when we are triggered, such as aggression. Or they can arise when we feel safe. When we’re soft, when the body knows it’s finally time to let something move. A tear, a spontaneous laugh, a flash of anger that feels clean and healthy—these are all signs that something is ready to be released.

And this is where tantric massage, movement, breathwork, and emotional presence and release practices can become powerful tools. They give us space, they offer the nervous system a chance to release and reset. They remind the body that it’s safe to feel. Sometimes having someone with us can help to give us that reassurance and maybe permission to allow emotional expression. Sometimes we prefer to have privacy to fully let go.

Over time, we learn how to hold our emotions gently instead of pushing them away. We discover we don’t need to be afraid of our feelings—because every part of us, every emotion, is simply asking to be met. And is taken me some time to really understand this, to get it beyond the theory I was reading.

Feeling is part of being human.

All of it.

The grief. The joy. The anger. The pleasure.

And in a world that moves so fast, slowing down to feel might just be the most radical thing we can do for ourselves.

Love,

Rosie x