Recently, I watched a talk show featuring Professor Alison Wood Brooks, a behavioral scientist at Harvard University, sharing her research on behavior, emotions, emotional communication, 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 suggests 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 preheating a car engine or an athlete warming up before a competition.
What is cognitive interpretation?
This refers to how you interpret those physical reactions. When your heart races, breathing quickens, and muscles tense, you might interpret these as tension, anxiety, happiness, or excitement. Your interpretation depends largely on the current environment and your memories. For example, tossing and turning the night before a speech is anxiety; screaming on a roller coaster at an amusement park is excitement; singing and dancing with your idol at a concert is exhilaration. In these scenarios, the physical reactions are the same, but because the environments 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.
Previously, I thought this was an environmental issue, leaving individuals mostly helpless and resigned. Or I blamed myself for being too fragile, too sensitive, too prone to internal conflict, and not mature enough—essentially self-destructing.
To improve these issues, I tried reading about "emotional management," attempting to control my runaway thoughts and become the "master of my emotions." But the results were minimal.
If my emotions are defined by my cognitive interpretation of the environment, then techniques to "control emotions" essentially deny my cognition outright. Self-denial only leads to more severe problems—like buying a chicken just for the soy sauce, it's clearly not worth it.
However, from the perspective of the two-factor theory of emotion, I can break down each emotional experience into two parts. I don't need to deny the entire emotion's validity at once; instead, I can accept the physiological reactions that occur. Sweaty palms and a racing heart are real, tossing and turning in bed from insomnia is real, and stomach cramps are real.
What truly needs to change is the "interpretation" of these reactions.
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 tigers—it could also be a place for a nap.
There's no need to "stop worrying," "control yourself," or demand that you "become more mature." Just tell yourself that this is a perfectly normal physiological phenomenon, and you only need to "reinterpret" your emotions.
So, since "anxiety" is physiologically equivalent to "excitement," why can't I make myself feel excited? Professor Brooks conducted an interesting 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 the track where you can race.
I used to think that when bad emotions hit, I had to either forcefully command myself to stop overthinking or spread negativity like a sad radio station. Venting is certainly a good way to relieve, but getting stuck in a loop of emotional spiral isn't a great idea either.
Now I understand that what truly traps me isn't the emotion itself, but the conclusion I draw from it. Our bodies aren't designed for stability; when faced with uncertainty, pressure, expectations, relationships, and changes, they become alert, tense, and prepare for the worst. This is all perfectly normal.
So-called emotional management isn't about completely eliminating negative emotions or forcing yourself to become a perpetually calm and rational machine. It's about being able to pause when emotions arise and give them an interpretation that works in your favor.
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 wrong," but rather, "I am already prepared."