Time to Express Ourselves
- Gabriele Perrone
- 8 minutes ago
- 5 min read
How Giving Voice to Our Primary Needs Is Vital to Physical and Mental Health
After my early studies in engineering, where I learnt how to build systems, make them work, or fix them, I returned to my books in my forties to study psychiatry, psychology, and neuroscience.
I came to appreciate that, while some of these disciplines are also “technical” (an issue or illness is identified, categorised, and addressed through problem-solving), others are much closer to the human dimension: “healing a mind” requires human interaction, where nosology and medical terminology have limited relevance.
Having both approaches within the same faculty (to simplify, the brain on one side and the mind on the other) allowed me to understand how they influence each other, and why the mind can ultimately shape the brain: fMRI studies show how talk therapy modifies brain activation in areas crucial to emotional balance and functioning.
Combined with my personal therapeutic experience, I became increasingly convinced that personal growth begins with acknowledging the existence of the mind and taking care of it. The first step, however, is to find supportive allies, within your family or beyond, and move forward one step at a time, even if you are starting from far away.
Starting With a Little User Manual
My father was born in the 1930s into a modest family and, after high school, he enrolled in the navy; very good at sports and in his studies, his view was that willpower was key to success and that emotions should be contained. He worked as a pilot in highly hierarchical environments such as the navy and civil aviation, where social interactions are highly standardised.
My education was based on the same principles: as an 8-year-old boy, when playing mini-basketball, he often reproached me for not being gritty enough; sport was supposed to be a school of life, where I should learn how to fight on the court in preparation for life — but this made me even more anxious, and I eventually gave up team sports.
Regarding socialisation, his recommendation was that I should make myself respected and fight, if necessary, even physically: this advice became an internal imperative for me. My mother was more protective, but she was never vocal and was often silenced by my father, especially when expressing emotions or anxieties, which were labelled as nonsense or irrational.
At 11, I started meeting up with peers in my neighbourhood; they were often quite verbally aggressive and mocked me. One day, I had had enough and tried to follow my father’s advice. I responded verbally to their mockery and then shoved and fought with a few of them on the road in front of my house, eventually breaking into tears of rage. I had done what I was supposed to do, but I felt ashamed of my “girlish crying” and didn’t have the courage to tell my parents about it.
But I wanted to succeed, so I kept meeting up with these guys, always committing to defend myself the next time, yet never being able to do so. For many years, I felt continuously stressed, never comfortable in this group: either not having fun or being mocked, feeling I should react yet never able to, frozen by the fear of both the physical fighting and of telling the truth to my father.
Frozen, and less and less self-confident, the idea that people are intrinsically willing to hurt others, and that I had no means to defend myself, spread to every social context, triggering a constant sense of alarm.
Taking Off… with Some Odds
Before my 18th birthday, with my high school diploma in sight, things were going better. My hope was that adults would spare me mockery and childish aggressiveness. I would consolidate my role as a brilliant student at university, maybe find a girlfriend, and so on.
But a new challenge was about to strike. One morning my mother called me in tears and revealed things I would never forget – not even now that I understand it was not true. My mother told me that my father had an affair and was planning to abandon us with no home and no money; she was absolutely desperate.
My father was harsh, but I trusted him, and I was petrified. Later, I was told that a major depression had hit my mother, and that delusions of betrayal were among the symptoms of psychosis.
The transition to menopause was explained to me as one of the triggers of the breakdown; my father tried to reassure me, saying he would handle the situation and I would not be exposed to it any more.
But with my father often away for work, I remained stuck at home for many years, during
which my mother lived a life of ups and downs, taking her medication for a few months and then stopping when she felt better, quickly relapsing into psychosis. I was her only trusted person, and she would share her secrets with me, while pretending to feel well when my father — a villain in her mind — was around.
During all those years, I had no understanding of the role of emotions in her condition; I could only think it was a very unfortunate situation, and no one told me that in such cases you should try to distance yourself or protect yourself rather than remain stuck.
Season after season, the only thing I could do was study, becoming more and more isolated from the world, hoping my mother would take her medication.
A Toll to Pay
In adolescence, I survived by achieving brilliant results in my studies, but neglecting other essential aspects of life, such as friendship, affection, and love, came at the cost of physical conditions. None of these are purely psychogenic, but the fact that many of them faded when I started taking care of my emotional life is already meaningful evidence.
Asthma developed during adolescence: although there were no obstructive crises, the cough was so intense — especially at night — that I was advised to undergo a bronchoscopy examination. I was diagnosed with tracheal inflammation and prescribed a break from sports for a year.
Heart arrhythmia: at age 20, a routine test revealed about 30,000 extra beats per day. Although I could not feel them, I was treated with medication and underwent years of medical investigations.
The arrhythmia resolved in my thirties as I became more emotionally stable.
Temporomandibular disorder caused persistent pain for more than twenty years, initially mistaken for ear pain, until it was identified as muscle tension related to bruxism.
Essential tremor began in my early twenties and was strongly influenced by stress, especially in social situations.
The conclusion is simple: ignoring the mind comes at a cost.
Eventually, after years of accumulated stress, I experienced a panic attack shortly before graduation, followed by depression. Seeking psychiatric help marked the beginning of a new phase in my life.
A Different Culture
Throughout my adult life, my wife stood by me, and we had three daughters. Now in my fifties, I see emotional balance as a lifelong process.
In our family, we express affection openly and normalise psychological support when needed.
Each family will find its own ways, but fostering awareness of mental health will make a profound difference for future generations: the journey may be long, but it is never too late to start walking.
