Sigmund Freud, the founder of psychoanalysis, said that emotions are “over-determined.” What he meant by this is that hardly ever do people react in a simplistic stimulus-response fashion. As an example, the exact same life event can occur to two people and yet each may have completely different reactions.

Each human brain takes in about 20 million bits of data per second. Your sense organs constantly scan the environment and send this massive amount of information to various parts of the brain. How all of this data is organized, perceived, and processed matters a lot! In this chapter, we take a look at the brain and discuss the role it plays in perceiving reality.

When it comes to survival, the brain carries out three main functions:

The human brain is designed to rapidly process information in complex ways. And this is accomplished by the interaction of three rather separate information-processing systems in the brain. To understand how you react to particular life circumstances, it is important to know something about these three ways of perceiving events.

The human brain is divided into two hemispheres (right and left) with the most highly developed aspects of the brain in the cortex, that thin layer of nerve cells covering the outside of each hemisphere. For the vast majority of people, the left hemisphere is engaged in a specific type of information processing, one that is well suited for perceiving and producing spoken language. This is also where logical thinking takes place.

In contrast, the right hemisphere is quite adept at picking up on the nuances of emotion in others. It is the part of the nervous system that readily detects subtle changes in others’ facial expressions, body language, and vocal tone. It is also the site for thinking that involves hunches and intuitions.

Taken together, the left and right hemispheres engage in what has been called parallel information processing. Let’s see how this works.

We have two couples in our example, Jill/Bob and Cindy/David. Let’s assume that Bob says, “You know I love you” and these words are perceived by Jill in her left hemisphere. Further, let’s say that Bob’s facial expression and tone of voice (being perceived by Jill’s right hemisphere) clearly convey the same message. When he says he loves her, he really means it! He looks how he feels and feels how he looks. The perceptions and conclusions arrived at from each hemisphere are in harmony.

In contrast, David says the exact same words, and they, too, are processed by Cindy’s left hemisphere. However, the truth is that David has fallen out of love with Cindy; in his heart of hearts he feels distant and uninvolved with her. However, out of obligation or guilt, he says, “You know I love you.” But Cindy’s right hemisphere picks up on something else. His eyes, his facial expression, and his vocal tone strongly suggest that his words are not sincere.

Given this second example, two things can (and do) commonly occur. Either Cindy notices the discrepancy, which raises doubts about David’s true feelings. Or, (and this often happens) she so strongly wants to believe in his love that she pays more attention to the words. Out of hopefulness and a measure of denial, she tries to convince herself that things are fine in the relationship. Generally, when such disharmony exists (when interpretations made by the right and left hemispheres don’t agree) many people will simply experience a vague sense of uneasiness. They may find the specifics of this dis-ease hard to really put their finger on.

The threat appraisal center of the brain is a tiny structure in the temporal lobes called the amygdala. Pioneering work by the noted neuroscientist Joseph Le Doux had led to an understanding about how the amygdala works. Incoming sensory information travels along two separate pathways. One goes to the cortex (where such data can be carefully analyzed by the cortex in the right and left hemispheres); the other goes to the amygdala.

Remember the set point metaphor we considered in the previous chapter? Well, if you go looking for that smoke detector in the brain, the amygdala is the prime candidate. A part of how sensitive people are to noticing emotionally distressing things in their environment depends a lot on just how sensitive their amygdala is (and this sensitivity level is often set before birth: more about this in the next chapter). Both the cortex and the amygdala are privy to the same information, but they process it separately and in uniquely different ways. In some respects, the amygdala is like a separate brain. It takes in information, makes decisions, and ignites action.

The amygdala is the brain structure that is responsible for learning about danger in the environment and is the rapid threat detector. Here is how this works. A man walks in the forest and suddenly sees what appears to be a large, coiled-up snake in the path. As a young child (like most of us) he learned that some snakes are poisonous, and the general size and shape of snakes was branded into his memory bank in the amygdala. The amygdala is an expert at what psychologists call pattern recognition. That is, the moment it registers this visual image (a round, long, coiled-up object) this is analyzed and it matches the general configuration of a snake. The amygdala then ignites a sudden response, stress hormones are released, and the man immediately jumps back. This is completely independent of what is happening upstairs in the cortex.

The cortex also rapidly takes in this information, but it does something the amygdala cannot do. It can reality test. This is a psychological term that implies the ability to take a second and more careful look at situations. The amygdala says, “In general it looks like a snake … therefore it is a snake.” The cortex may arrive at the same conclusion, but let’s consider in this example that it is not a snake but, rather, it is a coiled-up piece of rope. The general configuration could be a snake, but not necessarily. On further inspection (all of this taking a fraction of a second) the cortex, owing to its superior information-processing capabilities, refines its observation: “It’s not a snake; it’s a rope.”

In this case there is a difference of opinion between the cortex and the amygdala. Both take in data and both can independently set in motion a fight-or-flight response. Under the conditions described, in another fraction of a second the cortex, however, wins the disagreement, accurately sees reality, and, as it were, overrides the amygdala … the man calms down and goes on his way.

Often problems develop when the amygdala predominates. Let’s say that as a young boy, Steven was treated in a very harsh way by his father. Sometimes without warning, his father would strike him. The memories of this (stored in the amygdala, likely in the form of a general visual pattern of a tall man quickly approaching him) continue to play a role in Steven’s life. Often when in a store or other public place, if a tall man walks near him, he automatically flinches. His cortex says, “There is no danger … it’s just a man shopping,” and Steven certainly knows that this man is not his father and he is not a little kid any more. Yet he can’t help it. The persistent memory buried in the amygdala keeps evoking such “false alarms.” Steven may wonder why in the world he reacts the way he does.

Let’s take another example and see how this amygdala-level perception can operate at a completely unconscious level. When Pam was age 7 she was molested several times by a man who lived in her neighborhood. She was threatened that if she told anyone about it, he would kill her. She was terrified. Thankfully the abuse was soon discovered and the man sent to prison. She was never again in danger.

Pam, like all humans, took in this terrible experience, including some general physical features of the sexual predator. It got registered in memory banks in the amygdala. Let’s say he was a somewhat overweight man with a black mustache.

Thirty years pass, and Pam is doing well. She may have distant memories of the molestation, but only on rare occasions does it cross her mind; it is no longer a part of her life. One day she attends a continuing-education conference required by her place of work. It just so happens that the speaker is a man who (in a general way) looks a bit like the perpetrator (overweight and black mustache).

He comes across as a friendly person and good speaker. Yet for reasons that Pam cannot comprehend, she begins to feel increasingly anxious. Her heart rate increases, her palms sweat, and she has a vague sense of danger. With her conscious mind (her cortex) she scans her environment and concludes that there is absolutely no danger. All of the people look calm and cordial. Consciously she is completely unaware of the similarities between the speaker and her abuser of long ago. But her amygdala is sounding the alarm and she certainly cannot ignore the escalating anxiety that she is experiencing. At some point she excuses herself and leaves the seminar. Ten minutes later she sits in her car, more calm, yet completely perplexed, thinking, “What in the world is wrong with me?!”

Successful coping with life events is aided by people becoming very consciously aware of their particular learned fear responses. Take a close look at your life and come to know what kinds of situations are likely to activate your threat detector. When the alarm sounds and you notice anxiety or distress, it’s of course always important to take it seriously. You might be responding to actual here-and-now danger. Scan the environment. But also pause for a moment and take stock of the situation. Give your cortex a few moments to reality test and keep in mind your tendency to have your own unique false alarms.

Most of the time the perceptions occurring at the level of the amygdala are completely outside of awareness (i.e. the perceptions are unconscious). In our Pam example, like anyone else, she will try to figure out what has just happened. She wonders if she has some kind of medical problem … maybe its PMS … maybe, she thinks, “I’m going crazy.”

Memories stored in the amygdala do not go away. And, for many people, occasionally they continue to have a strong influence. Sometimes people can (upon careful reflection or with the help of psychotherapy) learn what they are responding to. This happened for Pam. She was in psychotherapy, and after carefully looking at her life she eventually put the pieces together. She no w knows that it is in her makeup to respond to people who have certain physical characteristics. There is a rhyme and reason to this. This is not craziness; it’s just an understandable “false alarm.” Thus when on occasion this kind of thing happens again, she does scan the environment to first make sure there is no identifiable danger, and if the coast is clear, she compassionately tells herself, “I know what’s going on here … I’ll be okay.”

Let’s consider two more all-too-common variations on this theme: Robert and Sarah.

When Robert was young, like all children, he had times when he was injured—skinned knees and the like—and, like all kids, he had times of sadness or emotional hurt. His father always responded to Robert’s tears with anger and shaming. He thought his son was acting like a crybaby, and would scold him. During Robert’s childhood, he gradually found ways to emotionally grit his teeth. When hurt or sad feelings began to percolate up inside of him, without him even noticing it, he began to automatically push such feelings down, completely out of his awareness. The shaming just hurt too much.

Now as an adult Robert has a problem. Like all of us, he has experienced many times of emotional hurt. Yet each time as he begins to internally feel sadness, or other forms of emotional vulnerability, these inner feelings are perceived unconsciously (at the level of the amygdala). Rather than feel or express sadness, Robert, in what seems a very automatic way, reacts by pulling away from others.

In his conscious mind, he knows that his friends and his wife are decent and understanding people. There is absolutely no evidence that this is not the case. Yet his unconscious mind is in control, and false alarms are driving him to habitually hide his hurt feelings. He doesn’t share his emotional pain. He is not consciously choosing to do this; it’s now just automatic. Another negative consequence for this style of reacting is that it has left some of his friends perceiving him as aloof and somewhat emotionally cold. That’s not Robert’s intention, but that’s what they think.

Sarah was very close to her father. Yet when she was 8 years old, her dad died of cancer. This was terribly traumatic for her, and her grief was completely understandable. To this day, at the age of 23, she often continues to feel his loss when she remembers those painful childhood memories. This, too, makes sense to her.

But what does not make sense is that every time she has started to feel close to others, including a boy in high school and again a young man while in college, she eventually would feel increasingly uneasy, especially if she started to fall in love with them. This anxiety somehow oddly led her to pull away, and in both instances she broke up with the boyfriends. She now feels lonely and perplexed at why she broke off what looked like good relationships with two very decent people.

As we’ve said, emotions almost always are reactions to particular stressors. Sometimes feelings make perfect sense because we can use our conscious mind to notice what’s going on … to figure out what we are reacting to. In those instances, it’s a “no brainer”—emotions make sense. However, since the human mind has this capacity to interpret events on three levels, often emotional reactions do not make sense … they seem inexplicable or sometimes “crazy.”

It is important to get as clear as you can about what you might be reacting to in the environment, especially during those times when feelings do not make sense. Often the key to understanding this comes from carefully looking at your prior experiences … experiences that may be continuing to influence how you react to the world.

The Least You Need to Know