Intensity, Emotional Intelligence, and the Both/And, a guest post by Kirstin Cronn-Mills

At this very moment, I am big mad. About several things. My skin tingles, my ears whistle, and I don’t know whether I want to yell or cry or break stuff.  I’m also big sad.  That one makes me want to lie on the floor and kick my feet like I’m three while I weep forever. I’m also BIG overwhelmed: the semester started, I’ve got too much to do, it was a wildly busy summer that included a flooded basement, and I’ve just had foot surgery that doesn’t allow for much movement or exercise. This feeling freezes me in my tracks.

When these giant emotions happen, do I share them with people? Usually not. The audience for my big mad/sad/overwhelm is pretty limited. But if I could share my mad/sad/overwhelm without hurting others, damaging property, or making people think I’ve lost my mind? Absolutely I would. I’ve gained enough emotional intelligence over the years to (usually, hopefully) know how to think about my big emotions, and know who can handle them. I share when it’s safe.

Who are those people I share with? Ones who are kind, and who understand that my neurotype (my neurodivergence) brings a lot of intensity. People who have their own emotional intelligence. People who are also okay with showing their emotions, no matter their neurotype.

Sometimes, of course, my emotions escape, especially when my brain’s overloaded. Is it embarrassing when that happens? It can be. Do people think less of me when I do it? Sure. This is the Midwest, home of stoic Swedes, Norwegians, Germans, and Eastern Europeans. Do you think they share their emotions? HA.

Why does my neurotype bring me extra intensity? At this point, science’s best guess is the pruning theory (this excellent link is specifically about autism, but the science applies to other kinds of neurodivergence). Basically, our brains don’t get rid of extra synaptic connections. More connections in the brain = more intensity, because everything stays important, and there’s less hierarchy of information. And that intensity could be expressed in MANY different ways: big emotions, a dislike of food textures, a need to move your body, or a hyperfocus on something you like.

Why am I telling you all this? Let me introduce you to Evvie, the main character in my latest YA novel, Rules for Camouflage. Evvie’s neurodivergence causes her to interpret life through big emotions and intense perspectives. Does that intensity appeal to everyone? Not always.

A few readers have noted the adults seem like bigger bullies than they might really be, or that they’re unrealistic characters (adults wouldn’t really bully kids like that, would they?). Actually, the bullies in this book are based on real-life humans. The adult is a combination of two people I know, and the teenager is your basic teenage bully you can find online or IRL (the most threatening act in the book happened IRL between teenagers).

I’m very okay with people not believing in or liking my books or my characters—readers experience books in ways that work for them—but I’d also invite people to look at the book through Evvie’s eyes, with Evvie’s intensity. For her, those bullies really are that bad.

Here’s the rub: does my intensity (or Evvie’s) make us less believable? For some readers, it seems so. For me, no. Just because you don’t believe in our intensity doesn’t mean it’s not intense for us.

Are you a lucky human because your life isn’t as intense as mine? Possibly. Maybe you’re one of those (again, often Midwestern) folks who believes that expressing emotions is messy, unnecessary, or a sign of weirdness (more on that in a minute). I’ve heard your perspective my whole life, and yes, big emotions are hard. Intensity is hard. But it’s a both/and, as most of life is.  My emotional intensity makes beautiful experiences even more beautiful, right along with making painful experiences even more painful.

Does my intensity help me understand, on a visceral level, what Gus Walz was feeling when he hollered “That’s my dad!” One hundred percent.  Have I had my own Gus Walz moments? Of course. There may be people reading this essay who saw me weeping uncontrollably at the 2009 XXYY book event (no, I will not tell you what it was) when an author played the University of Nebraska fight song as part of their presentation. I was so unexpectedly overwhelmed and homesick that I looked exactly like Gus Walz did at the Democratic National Convention. WAAAAAAAAAAH. Did I embarrass people? I’m sure. Did we all survive? Yes.

In the book, Evvie takes her big emotions and puts them into lists.  Or she takes them to the zoo and lets them float into Aretha’s aquarium. In one scene, she stomps around a parking lot and is BIG big mad—but she has the right audience for it, and she’s comforted by her audience when it’s over. Nobody takes offense. Nobody calls her weird.

And that brings me to the first page of my book. Ann Coulter did exactly this to Gus Walz, exactly what Evvie says people will do. It was gut-wrenching to see it happen on a national stage. But Gus’s champions immediately came to his defense. His audience for his big emotions was instant and worldwide. And that’s the way it should be.

Us kind, quirky, positive weirdos have to cultivate our emotional intelligence so we can care for the other weirdos out there, especially as we walk through the world feeling too much, all the time, whether it’s from the tags in our shirts or the lights in the classroom. And we need help from every neurotype. How do we make the world safe for all of us to express our emotions? To begin with, we need to stick together as we cry and laugh our way through the world.

The stoic people need our positive examples.

Meet the author

Kirstin Cronn-Mills is a writer and teacher living in Southern Minnesota. Please find her on Instagram and Facebook or at kirstincronn-mills.com.

About Rules for Camouflage

Atypical meets Every Last Wordin this relatable and heartfelt coming of age story about a neurodivergent teen navigating school, friendships and first love.
​
Evvie Chambers is doing her best to skate through the last month of high school to graduation. The only thing standing in her way is a biology report on foxes—and her teacher, Mrs. Audrey Dearborn. The same Mrs. Dearborn who’s been a thorn in Evvie’s side for years, refusing to acknowledge or accommodate her neurodiversity. Evvie would much rather be doing her report on Aretha, the octopus she cares for when she volunteers at the Minnesota Zoo but deviating from the exact assignment is not allowed—and Mrs. Dearborn isn’t going to make following the rules easy. 
 
Evvie’s only escape from high school hell is the Lair: a safe haven for kids whose brains need some time away. But when Mrs. Dearborn refuses Evvie’s pleas to finesse the final report assignment to her strengths, and persistent bully Vandal McDaniel directs his harassment toward Lair members, Evvie finds herself more desperate than ever for stability and support.
 
When a shocking act of violence pushes the whole mess over the edge, Evvie, with the help of her friends and the others who love her, will have to figure out how to find her place in the wide world, while remaining true to herself.

ISBN-13: 9780316567954
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Publication date: 06/18/2024
Age Range: 14 – 18 Years

Filed under: Guest Post