MSI Press Blog

  Somewhere between kindergarten and adulthood, many of us learn that emotions are like elbows at the dinner table: best kept tucked in. We’re taught to smile politely, cry discreetly, and never—under any circumstances—rage in public unless we’re winning an Oscar. But emotional expression isn’t just personal. It’s cultural. It’s generational. It’s shaped by everything from family lore to workplace norms to the unspoken rules of grocery store etiquette. Society doesn’t just influence how we feel—it influences whether we’re allowed to show it. 🎭 The Performance of Composure In many Western cultures, emotional restraint is equated with maturity. We admire the “strong silent type,” reward stoicism in crisis, and label vulnerability as weakness. Crying at work? Unprofessional. Expressing anger? Unhinged. Admitting fear? Better keep that to your therapist. But this performance of composure often comes at a cost. We suppress grief until it leaks out sideways. We mask anxiety with pr...

  Recently,  Learning to Feel  (Girrell), reached #260 on the Amazon bestseller list of psychologist biographies. Book Description:  Learning to Feel, Second Edition,  teaches readers how to gain choice and authority over their emotional states. Feelings and emotions are reactions to the deeply held beliefs and experiences of our lives. In order to become fully emotionally intelligent - that is, to be able to know what is yours, what comes from the others, and how best to respond to those others - we must connect first to those core experiences and often re-interpret the meaning they have held for us.  Learning to Feel  is such a journey, intended to be a set of trail blazes for anyone who wishes to up their game in the realm of emotional intelligence. (Edition 1 was selected for the Independent Press Distinguished Favorite Award and a Literary Titan gold award.) First Edition Book Awards Literary Titan Gold Award Independent Press Award Distinguished ...

  We rarely notice the scaffolding of self until it starts to shift. For years, we live inside a version of ourselves built from roles, routines, and the expectations of others. We are the reliable one. The caregiver. The strategist. The fixer. The artist. The one who remembers birthdays and keeps the household running. These identities feel solid—like bricks mortared by repetition and recognition. But then something changes. A child grows up. A parent declines. A job ends. A body falters. A belief unravels. And suddenly, the scaffolding creaks. What follows isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s quiet. A slow erosion of certainty. A subtle reordering of priorities. A moment when you look in the mirror and think, “I don’t quite know who I am anymore.” This isn’t a crisis. It’s a renovation. Self-concept isn’t fixed. It’s a living structure—adaptive, porous, and shaped by experience. It expands when we learn something new. Contracts when we grieve. Reorients when we choose diff...