Emotions Without a Script: Can Emotions Speak for Themselves

I’ve spent years listening to people describe their emotional worlds. Sometimes these descriptions come in a torrent of words, spilling out in intricate detail, and at other times they arrive as tears or silence, the kind that hangs heavy in the air, saying everything and nothing at once. And yet, what has become most evident to me is this: emotions are always there, whether named, disguised, or left unspoken. They are the background music to our lives, shaping the tone and tempo of our experiences. Without that music, our stories can feel flat or confusing. But what happens when that music becomes the only thing people can hear, drowning out the story that needs to be told?

There are many reasons why someone might struggle to articulate how they feel. Trauma, neurodivergent differences, upbringing, societal expectations, personality traits that favour logic over emotion or that feel more comfortable with concrete facts, or even the simple lack of practice in emotional language can all play a role. But the inability to express feelings with words does not mean those feelings don’t exist. Despite these obstacles the inner reality of those feelings remains unchanged. If we reach for a heavy object and fail to lift it we still feel the weight of it resisting our efforts. In the same way the absence of words does not erase the presence of emotion. As John Green wrote in the book “The Fault in Our Stars” pain demands to be felt and it insists on finding a way to make itself known. I’ve found this to be profoundly true in my practice and in my own reflections.

I want to talk about the dilemma that arises when emotions are expressed purely as emotions, raw and unfiltered, rather than through the deliberate act of using words. It’s a pattern I see often, and one I’ve come to understand more deeply through the stories people share with me.

When a child’s emotional needs are repeatedly rejected by their caregivers, something happens. The child internalises the rejection, absorbing the unspoken message: “Your emotions are not welcome here.” Over time, they learn that expressing their needs brings pain rather than understanding, rejection rather than validation. The pain of being dismissed becomes greater than the pain of hiding their true selves. So, they build walls. They create cocoons of self-preservation. But pain, as I’ve said, demands to be felt. It doesn’t disappear simply because it’s been shut away. A gust will find a crack and a breeze will slip through. And so too do our emotions slip out involuntarily in moments we least expect

For many, this means their internal experiences become expressed as raw, unmediated emotions. They cry, rage, or withdraw without being able to say why. Those are the raw notes of feeling when the soundtrack erupts without any accompanying script. It’s as though their emotions take the stage as the primary messenger, leaving words behind. We may feel embarrassed at our lack of control yet those moments are simply our emotional system performing its essential role. At first, this happens without intention, but over time, it can become a learned behaviour. The person may come to believe that the only way to convey their inner world is through these raw, unfiltered expressions because words have failed them, or worse, because their words have been used against them in the past. It becomes safer to let the emotion loose and hope it triggers sympathy.

Emotions are signals. They alert us that something is unfolding within us that needs our attention. Often we lack full clarity on what that something is. We feel uneasy or restless or sad without knowing exactly why. The emotion is the alarm bell prompting us to investigate. To make sense of it with curiosity and kindness. We become the custodians of our feelings and we can learn to give them space and voice before bringing them into conversation with others. So you see, the person living through these emotions, in a way, is meant to act as the messenger. If they hope for others to truly grasp what they are experiencing, they need to find a way to interpret these signals and turn them into something others can begin to understand. It doesn’t have to be perfect or complete, but there has to be some thread of insight.

When we seek to share what we feel we have two tasks. We must honour the emotion by acknowledging its power. And we must craft an outlet (e.g., words, images) to convey its meaning. If we focus only on emotion without words the other person may be left stumbling in the dark. They sense the urgency but lack the map. The conversation becomes a guessing game. Imagine explaining a happy childhood memory by sobbing uncontrollably. The emotions speak louder than any sentence ever could and yet the listener cannot grasp the beautiful details of the event. They only see someone in turmoil. Or picture a person recounting a nightmare in a calm clinical voice. They share every fact yet their lips betray no tremble and their eyes lack tears. We may respect their composure but we suspect something vital has been lost.

Here’s where the metaphor of background music comes into play. I remember a conversation I had with someone close to me. They’re a talented video and sound editor, and as we spoke, a metaphor came to mind. Emotions, I told them, as the score to a film, are the background music to the words we wish to say. They add depth, nuance, and texture to the narrative. But the narrative, the words and the plot need to be there too. Without it, the music alone can feel disjointed, overwhelming, or confusing. Yet so many of my patients recognised that when they retell traumatic experiences it is as though they’re delivering a news report. The facts are there, but the emotions have been stripped away. It’s a defence mechanism, a way the brain protects itself from becoming overwhelmed. In these cases, the script is intact, but the music is missing.

But there is another scenario. One where the music remains, but the script is gone. No words, no context, just raw emotion. This, too, creates a disconnect. The listener senses the intensity but lacks the understanding needed to respond appropriately. Imagine a film without context or plot. We hear the background score thundering yet we have no idea what story it belongs to. The impact can be confusion or frustration. A listener might say “Stop it I do not understand” or they might step back in fear worried that they might worsen the situation, which only reinforces the belief that expressing emotions doesn’t lead to understanding. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, one that many people unwittingly live out.

This is the dilemma many face when their emotions take centre stage without words to accompany them. It’s not manipulative, though it can sometimes be perceived that way. What’s really happening is a deeply human attempt and an intelligent survival strategy based on hard earned lessons to seek connection and safety. By showing vulnerability in full force they seek protection. It is as though an injured animal will expose its soft underbelly to a potential ally trusting that their weakness will elicit care not cruelty.

Trauma can amplify this dynamic. It can trap people in cycles where the roles of messenger and signal are perpetually misaligned. The person who succeeds in expressing raw emotion without words often arrives at a breaking point. The tears flow because they can take no more pretending. The anger erupts because suppression is unbearable. Those moments serve as a gateway. They reveal the depth of unmet needs. For those who have spent years, or even lifetimes, believing that their emotions are unacceptable, the process of putting them into words can feel daunting. It requires trust, practice, and often the support of a compassionate listener. But it is possible. I’ve seen people learn to reclaim their narratives, to add the background music back into their stories, or to give their music the script it needs to make sense.

Perhaps in another article, I’ll explore the specific ways we can articulate ourselves more effectively. For now, I simply want to raise awareness of the impact of misplacing the roles of messenger and signal. Emotions are not the enemy, nor are they the sole messenger. They are an integral part of our humanity, a rich and complex background score that deserves to be heard, but in harmony with the words that give them context. Over time, with patience and support, we can learn to bring them together, creating a narrative that is both powerful and true.