Recently, I watched a talk show featuring Professor Alison Wood Brooks, a behavioral scientist at Harvard University, sharing research on behavior, emotions, emotional communication, conversation, and negotiation skills.
In this talk show, I noticed a term she introduced: the two-factor theory of emotion.
When discussing the increasingly common anxiety people experience today, she mentioned that research shows human emotions consist of two parts: physiological arousal and cognitive interpretation.
What is physiological arousal?
When you experience emotions like tension, anxiety, happiness, or excitement, you might notice physical changes such as a racing heart, rapid breathing, sweaty palms, muscle tension, or stomach pain. These are all physiological arousal—your body preparing for what might happen next, much like warming up a car engine or an athlete's pre-game warm-up.
What is cognitive interpretation?
This refers to how you interpret those physical reactions. When your heart races, breathing quickens, and muscles tense, do you interpret these as tension, anxiety, happiness, or excitement? That interpretation is cognitive interpretation, which largely depends on your current environment and memories. For example, tossing and turning in bed the night before a speech is anxiety; screaming on a roller coaster at an amusement park is tension; singing and dancing with your idol at a concert is excitement. In these scenarios, the physical responses are the same, but because the environment and memories differ, the "interpreted" emotions vary.
Professor Brooks' theory made me rethink so-called "negative emotions."
In recent years, more and more friends around me have fallen into various emotional struggles. Many people (including myself) have become more anxious, more sensitive, and more prone to negative emotional fluctuations.
I used to think this was a problem caused by the environment, where as individuals, we often feel helpless and powerless. Or I would blame myself for being too fragile, too sensitive, too prone to overthinking, and not mature enough, essentially sabotaging myself.
To improve these issues, I tried reading about "emotional management," attempting to control my runaway thoughts and become the "master of my emotions." Of course, the results were minimal.
If my emotions are defined by my perception of the environment, then those "emotion control" techniques essentially negate my perception. Self-denial only leads to more serious problems—like buying a whole chicken just for the soy sauce, which is clearly not worth it.
However, from the perspective of the two-factor theory of emotion, I can actually break down each emotional experience into two parts. I don't need to deny the validity of the entire emotion at once; instead, I can accept the physiological response at that moment. Sweaty palms and a racing heart are real; tossing and turning in bed from insomnia is real; stomach cramps are real.
What truly needs to change is the "interpretation" of these responses.
Often, bad emotions are just the body preparing for the worst-case scenario in advance. I should realize that a missed message doesn't mean a relationship is broken, and a meeting room isn't a den of danger—it could just be a place for a nap.
There's no need to "stop being anxious," "control yourself," or demand that you "become more mature." Just tell yourself that this is a perfectly normal physiological phenomenon; I just need to "reinterpret" my emotions.
So, since "anxiety" is physiologically equivalent to "excitement," why can't I get myself excited? Professor Brooks conducted a fascinating experiment where she had anxious people, before public speaking, exams, or singing, avoid trying to "calm down" and instead repeatedly tell themselves, "I am excited." The result was that these people performed better than before.
"Anxiety" and "calmness" are physiologically poles apart, but "anxiety" and "excitement" are close siblings. Don't slam on the brakes when the car is speeding; instead, gently steer it onto a track where you can race freely.
I used to think that when bad emotions hit, I had to either forcefully command myself to stop overthinking or spread negativity like a tragic radio station. Venting is certainly a good way to relieve emotions, but letting yourself loop into a spiral of emotional death is not a good idea.
So now I understand that what truly traps me is not the emotion itself, but the conclusion I draw from it. Our bodies are not designed for stability; when faced with uncertainty, pressure, expectations, relationships, and change, they become alert, tense, and prepare for the worst. This is all perfectly normal.
So-called emotional management is not about completely eliminating negative emotions or forcing yourself to become an eternally calm and rational machine. It's about being able to pause when emotions arise and give them an interpretation that is more beneficial to you.
You don't need to become a driver who can quickly switch lanes, but at least the next time you experience insomnia, tension, or sweaty palms, you can tell yourself, "It's not that things are going to fall apart; it's that I am already prepared."