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I trust your a good summer: mine was not. The very day we were supposed to be take a vacation, I was stationed in A&E with my husband, waiting for him to have prompt but common surgery, which meant our vacation arrangements had to be cancelled.

From this situation I learned something important, all over again, about how challenging it is for me to feel bad when things go wrong. I’m not talking about life-altering traumas, but the more everyday, gently heartbreaking disappointments that – without the ability to actually experience them – will truly burden us.

When we were meant to be on holiday but were not, I kept experiencing a pull 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 bump up against the reality that this holiday really was gone: my husband’s surgery involved frequent painful bandage replacements, and there is a limited time window for an enjoyable break on the shores of Belgium. So, no vacation. Just discontent and annoyance, hurt and nurturing.

I know more serious issues can happen, it’s only a holiday, such a fortunate concern to have – I know because I tested that argument too. But what I required was to be honest with myself. In those times when I was able to cease resisting the disappointment and we talked about it instead, it felt like we were facing it as a team. Instead of being down and trying to appear happy, I’ve allowed myself all sorts of difficult sentiments, including but not limited to hostility and displeasure and loathing and fury, which at least appeared genuine. At times, it even became possible to appreciate our moments at home together.

This recalled of a wish I sometimes observe in my therapy clients, and that I have also witnessed in myself as a client in therapy: that therapy could somehow reverse our unwanted experiences, like hitting a reverse switch. But that arrow only points backwards. Acknowledging the reality that this is unattainable and allowing the pain and fury for things not working out how we hoped, rather than a insincere positive spin, can enable a shift: from denial and depression, to growth and possibility. Over time – and, of course, it requires patience – this can be profoundly impactful.

We consider depression as being sad – but to my mind it’s a kind of dulling of all emotions, a pressing down of anger and sadness and disappointment and joy and vitality, and all the rest. The substitute for depression is not happiness, but acknowledging every sentiment, a kind of genuine feeling freedom and release.

I have often found myself trapped in this urge to click “undo”, but my young child is assisting me in moving past it. As a first-time mom, I was at times overwhelmed by the astonishing demands of my infant. Not only the nursing – sometimes for a lengthy period at a time, and then again under 60 minutes after that – and not only the outfit alterations, and then the repeating the process before you’ve even finished the change you were doing. These everyday important activities among so many others – efficiency blended with affection – are a comfort and a significant blessing. Though they’re also, at moments, unceasing and exhausting. What astounded me the most – aside from the lack of rest – were the emotional demands.

I had assumed my most important job as a mother was to meet my baby’s needs. But I soon came to realise that it was unfeasible to meet all of my baby’s needs at the time she needed it. Her appetite could seem unmeetable; my nourishment could not come fast enough, or it flowed excessively. And then we needed to swap her diaper – but she hated being changed, and wept 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 realized that my most crucial role as a mother was first to endure, and then to support her in managing the powerful sentiments triggered by the infeasibility of my guarding her from all distress. As she developed her capacity to consume and process milk, she also had to build an ability to digest her emotions and her pain when the supply was insufficient, or when she was in pain, or any other challenging and perplexing experience – and I had to grow through her (and my) annoyance, fury, despondency, aversion, letdown, craving. My job was not to guarantee smooth experiences, but to support in creating understanding to her sentimental path of things not going so well.

This was the contrast, for her, between having someone who was trying to give her only pleasant sentiments, and instead being assisted in developing a ability to experience all feelings. It was the contrast, for me, between desiring to experience excellent about performing flawlessly as a flawless caregiver, and instead developing the capacity to tolerate my own shortcomings in order to do a adequately performed – and grasp my daughter’s disappointment and anger with me. The distinction between my seeking to prevent her crying, and understanding when she required to weep.

Now that we have evolved past this together, I feel not as strongly the urge to hit “undo” and change our narrative into one where all is perfect. I find faith in my feeling of a capacity evolving internally to understand that this is unattainable, and to realize that, when I’m busy trying to rebook a holiday, what I truly require is to sob.