The Agony Aunt Who Couldn’t Feel a Thing

When I was nine, I discovered I had a superpower. During a playground game, a classmate choked me in an assassin-style throat hold, likely imitating something seen on TV, unaware of the danger. As she let go, a black curtain drew across my view. It was not my best playtime. I couldn’t speak for several minutes, feeling upset and isolated, questioning where the adults were and who was looking out for me.

To self-soothe, I looked forward to the afternoon. My favorite show, “Kizzy,” would be on TV when I got home. This thought gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling, and I felt better. For years, thinking about small upcoming joys, which I called “Kizzy moments,” became my coping mechanism. It was my superpower.

However, as I grew older and life became more complicated, Kizzy moments lost their potency. I’d feel as flat as a steamrollered cartoon character, struggling to find meaning or purpose. Sadness, anger, and disappointment are challenging but active emotions. Feeling flat is inert, like being stuck in a waiting room forever. When that feeling came, none of my usual tricks would work, making me feel bleak and hopeless.

As the Guardian’s agony aunt, I hear about people’s real lives and noticed a common theme: people feeling flat or numb despite having everything they thought they wanted. Phrases like “I have the job I always dreamed of, a great partner, I live in a fabulous part of the world, etc., and yet …” became regular. Many people around me expressed similar feelings.

A few years ago, I discovered the term anhedonia, the inability to feel pleasure. Coined by French psychologist Theodule Ribot in 1896, it originally described an inability to experience pleasure but later included a loss of interest in previously rewarding activities. This definition fit perfectly; when I felt anhedonic, nothing could re-spark me.

Anhedonia can be a clinical hallmark of depression, Parkinson’s, and schizophrenia, but that wasn’t me. I was generally a content person. Yet, even in moments of anticipated joy, like traveling to Italy as a child, I’d often go numb. Sometimes I felt like I couldn’t “touch the feeling,” or it felt like looking at things through glass. This feeling eventually dissipated, and I started to “unfreeze” and feel things again.

Tanith Carey wrote “Feeling ‘Blah’?: Why Anhedonia Has Left You Joyless and How to Recapture Life’s Highs” about her experience. She describes how amazing news left her feeling nothing and how, even at her wedding, she didn’t feel “completely there.” Her book discusses various reasons for anhedonia, such as trauma, burnout, and modern life challenges. Carey found that after writing the book, many people identified with the term “anhedonia.”

There are anecdotal reports of anhedonia triggered by GLP-1 drugs like Ozempic. People on semaglutide drugs report feeling flat and losing the desire to do anything, despite weight loss. This isn’t a scientific consensus, but it’s being discussed in online communities like Reddit.

To figure out why I felt this way, I thought it would be useful to work backwards from what brings joy. My first stop was with neuroscientists Prof. Jon Roiser and Prof. Morten L. Kringelbach. Roiser explained that joy is called reward in neuroscience and is a complex interplay of various psychological processes. He described the phases of joy: the appetitive stage (motivational), the consummatory stage (enjoyment), and the learning stage (memory consolidation).

Motivation is key. In clinical anhedonia, mainly in depression, hedonic experience isn’t necessarily blunted; it’s the earlier “appetitive” stages that are disrupted. Roiser’s research looks into physical exercise’s role in alleviating this. He suggested my anhedonia might be due to inflammation, explaining that the brain sometimes acts as if the body is ill, quietening everything down. This made sense; I often overworked and overthought, needing a fallow period for my brain.

Prof. Kringelbach’s research emphasizes fulfillment and flourishing. Pursuing pleasure alone doesn’t equate to more joy; layering meaning and context onto pleasure does. Pleasure cycles can’t necessarily be manipulated. For instance, a mixtape of my favorite song parts felt less enjoyable without the buildup and context of the full songs. Real pleasure, augmented by doing things with others, becomes more memorable.

Increased focus on instant gratification, especially through social media, contributes to feeling anhedonic. Short-term fixes done alone, like checking notifications or buying items, don’t create lasting joy. Dr. Stephen Blumenthal noted that anhedonia could be a defensive retreat from pain, blunting both pleasure and pain. Prof. Alessandra Lemma linked it to a lack of delay and anticipation in the digital age, which is crucial for processing desire and wanting.

Everyone I spoke to suggested three key things to combat anhedonia: spending time outdoors, exercising, and being with others. Social connection and movement are vital, even though they may feel like the last things you want to do when feeling flat.

Personally, I’ve found routine important. I’ve consciously tried to vary and layer my pleasures with purpose, make joys less fleeting, and think more thoughtfully about my consumption. The last anhedonic phase I had was short-lived. By going for a walk with friends, the feeling dissolved, and I returned to myself.

Ultimately, I realized the meaning of life is that it has to have meaning. Finding purpose, creating shared experiences, and connecting with others are the antidotes to anhedonia. Instead of numbing myself, I now channel energy into meaningful interactions and long-term joy.

Source: The Guardian