Quit outrunning your sadness—It has better sneakers than you

A quick lap around the problem

You know that restless itch to get away from whatever hurts? It’s the reason you scroll Instagram until your thumb cramps, binge-watch shows you don’t even like, or sign up for a 5 a.m. spin class even though you hate mornings, cardio, and fluorescent lighting. Anything—absolutely anything—seems better than sitting in a quiet room with sadness knocking at the door.

Modern culture applauds the escape. “Stay productive.” “Fake it till you make it.” “Good vibes only.” We treat sadness like an awkward dinner guest: keep it busy, seat it near the exit, and pray nobody notices the tear stains on the napkin. Meanwhile, sadness laces up its trusty sneakers, keeping pace behind every distraction, every frantic day planner entry, every double espresso. Outrun it? Nice fantasy. It’s a marathoner. You’re sprinting in flip-flops.

But there’s another way: stop, turn around, and walk with it. Not romanticize it. Not wallow. Walk. Because sadness, when acknowledged, becomes a trail guide instead of a tailgater. Ready to trade the chase for the conversation? Let’s start where the real race happens—inside your cells.

The biology under your hoodie

Sadness isn’t a philosophical ghost; it’s a biochemical event. Cortisol spikes, serotonin dips, your prefrontal cortex loses influence while your limbic system takes the wheel like an over-caffeinated Uber driver. Heart rate variability shrinks; breath gets shallow. Your body is literally signaling, “Pause, recalibrate, repair.” Evolution wired you to slow down when wounded—like animals licking their paws in the shade. But we treat slowing down as failure, so we ignore every built-in alarm.

That brain-body conversation goes something like this:

• Body: “Hey boss, systems running hot, can we rest?”
• Mind: “Not now, deadline.”
• Body: “Serotonin’s low; maybe a nap?”
• Mind: “How about three coffees instead?”
• Body: “Fine. Enjoy the existential hangover.”

Chemical reality always wins. Keep sprinting and you’ll eventually meet sadness the hard way: burnout, panic attacks, autoimmune flares. Listen early and sadness merely asks for a drink of water and a quiet seat on the porch.

How sadness out-athletes you

Sadness is patient endurance, not explosive speed. It travels light—no schedule, no social media, no Netflix queue—while you lug a backpack of tasks and self-judgment. Here’s its competitive edge:

1. It’s frictionless
   Sadness doesn’t argue with itself; you do. The more you label it “bad,” the more inner resistance you create. Resistance is drag, drag slows runners.
2. It doesn’t get bored
   You need constant novelty to maintain avoidance. Sadness is totally cool re-reading the same page until you finally pay attention.
3. It rests when you rest
   You collapse? It waits, conserving energy. Then, when you zombie-walk back into motion, it’s fresh while you’re depleted.

So yes, sadness has better sneakers—because it’s not lugging around denial, only data.

Why “good vibes only” is emotional junk food

Picture eating cotton candy for three meals straight. Tastes great for about ten minutes; then your stomach plots revenge. That’s the psychological equivalent of “positivity only.” Real joy is a full-course meal: carbs, protein, fiber, even the bitter greens. Sadness is those greens—loaded with micronutrients for growth. Skip them and you’re malnourished, Instagram filter or not.

When you slap a smile-sticker over grief, you force your nervous system into emotional debt. Interest compounds as suppressed feelings morph into cynicism, passive-aggression, or the 3 a.m. doom scroll. Eventually you’ll default on that debt in some spectacular meltdown—crying in an elevator, rage-snapping at a loved one, or quitting your job on Slack at 2 a.m.

Sitting practice: the art of slowing the chase

1. Notice the impulse to flee
   Is your hand already reaching for the phone? Pause. Five deep breaths. Feel the micro-tremor in the chest.
2. Name it precisely
   “Sad.” “Lonely.” “Empty.” The brain calms when it tags sensations with language—called affect labeling in neuroscience. It’s like hitting save on a messy document so nothing gets lost.
3. Locate it physically
   Knot in throat? Weight behind eyes? Keep attention there for at least one full inhale-exhale cycle. Sensations often shift when witnessed.
4. Stay until the story changes
   When the sensation either moves, softens, or reveals a memory—congratulations, you’ve entered dialogue. Now sadness can talk while you listen.

Yes, it feels weird at first—like interviewing a ghost. But ghosts become less scary when you hand them the mic.

Translating sadness into information

Most people treat emotions like static: noise until the program comes back on. Emotions are actually metadata—contextual markers telling you about unmet needs.

• Sadness might point to lost connection, lost purpose, or tiredness.
• Anxiety could flag missing boundaries or overload.
• Anger often marks a violated value or suppressed “no.”

When you decode the message, you get actionable intel: “I need more rest,” “I miss my sister,” “That project hijacked my creative spark.” From there, sadness morphs into a project manager: schedule a break, call your sister, renegotiate workload. Data → decision → direction. No spiritual bypass required.

Unexpected perks of walking with your shadow

1. Energy efficiency
   Processing feelings consumes glucose, but suppressing them burns twice as much through constant muscle tension and cognitive avoidance. Face it once; save power.
2. Credibility
   People trust someone who can own up to tough feelings. Ever meet a leader who says, “I’m scared too, here’s the plan”? Feels like fresh air after corporate jargon.
3. Creative juice
   Neuroscientists link high emotional variability with divergent thinking. Sadness can widen attention, helping you see patterns normally blocked by routine cheerfulness.
4. Thicker resilience
   After weathering sadness without collapsing, the next storm registers as “familiar” instead of “fatal.” That’s real vibrational rise—earned, not purchased.

Rewriting the cultural script

We inherited Victorian stoicism dressed in Silicon-Valley wellness jargon. Result: smiley-face capitalism. Productivity apps push dopamine hits, self-help gurus sell hacks for “upgrading your mood,” and HR pamphlets rebrand burnout as a “growth opportunity.” Meanwhile, Indigenous and ancient traditions treated sadness as communal weather: a time to gather, sing, rest, share stories. No one fought the season; they rode it.

Let’s steal back that older wisdom with some upgrades:

• Community debrief
  Host monthly “shadow circles” where friends share a recent sadness and one lesson gleaned. No advice, just witnessing.
• Ritualizing rest
  Mark low-energy days with tangible symbols: a certain candle lit, a playlist, a journal color. Signals the nervous system it’s safe to downshift.
• Story currency
  Reward vulnerability. At team meetings, invite “fail tales”—moments of struggle and what they taught. Normalize the messy middle, not just the TED-talk ending.

Small cultural tweaks reduce the shame premium on sadness, making it cheaper to feel than suppress.

Case study: the reiki-runner and the 2-problem paradox

Remember my friend with the work mess and the “raise your vibration” prescription? Let’s call her Maya. She treated anxiety like airport security: keep taking off shoes until anxiety clears you for flight. Result? She felt anxious about being anxious—a recursive loop.

I challenged her to sit ten minutes daily with the fear. No mantra, no crystals—just breath and noticing. She hated it the first week: “It’s like watching static.” Day thirteen, she suddenly saw a memory of being shamed for mistakes in grade school. Shame morphed into grief; grief into a clear plan: request mentorship instead of pretending she knew it all. Two months later, she’s not just less anxious; she’s leading a new project. Vibrations? Up. Sneakers? Retired.

The kicker: none of this required erasing negativity. It required listening to it.

From marathon to mindful stroll

If you’re ready to retire the endless treadmill, consider these mindset pivots:

• From avoidance to approach: Feelings aren’t foes; they’re feedback loops.
• From performance to presence: Your worth isn’t a scoreboard; it’s intrinsic.
• From sprint to cycle: Life moves in seasons; productivity peaks and ebbs.

Write these on a sticky note, tattoo them on your wrist, whatever keeps them top-of-mind when the flight reflex kicks in.

A pocket practice for next time sadness jogs by

1. Stop: Literally freeze for three breaths.
2. Soft gaze: Let your eyes unfocus—signals the nervous system to exit threat mode.
3. Silent question: “What do you want me to know?” Wait for the body’s answer, not a verbal one. Could be a sigh, a tear, a sudden sensation.
4. Small action: Whatever surfaces, honor it. Stretch, drink water, send the text, book therapy—move the intel into the world.
5. Seal: One hand on heart, one on belly. Whisper “We’re okay.” That “we” matters; it integrates the part that feels sad with the part that witnesses.

Repeat whenever you notice yourself lacing up the metaphorical running shoes.

Closing lap

Outrunning sadness was never an athletic event; it was an optical illusion. You can’t lap your own legs, and you can’t ditch a feeling designed to keep you whole. But you can slow down, pivot, and walk side-by-side until sadness hands over its secret map: the route back to yourself.

Imagine no longer draining energy on sprints to nowhere. Imagine converting that stamina into art, into better boundaries, into restful sleep. That’s what happens when you accept that sadness owns the better sneakers—and invite it to set the pace instead of chasing it down the track.

Next time you feel the ache, consider it a polite invitation from a long-distance coach who’s been waiting patiently at the finish line. Take off the flip-flops. Step off the track. You’re done racing. Now, it’s time to walk—together—into something infinitely richer than speed: depth.

And if you ever need a companion on that stroll, remember this article, breathe, and hear the gentle creak of porch boards as sadness slides a chair beside you. No finish line. Just a conversation—and the quiet unfolding of your most authentic rhythm.

Got sixty seconds? Slide over to this reel where I unpack the whole idea in one breath:

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A post shared by Rudá Iandé (@rudaiande)