Deep-dive #19: The second arrow
- Parthena Intze
- May 1
- 5 min read
Updated: May 2
Our brain is a fantastic problem-solver! But when it comes to emotional issues, it sometimes becomes our own enemy. Not with grand drama, but with many quiet, nagging thoughts: “What if I fail?” or “Why didn’t I do that better?” - and suddenly we’re caught in a spiral that brings us stress, self-doubt, and, not seldomly, physical symptoms.
We suffer.
The parable from Buddhist teaching about the two arrows beautifully illustrates how we become the creators of our own suffering and how it differs from the actual pain and its trigger:
The first arrow represents the pain we perceive. The second arrow that strikes us is the symbol of our judgments, thoughts, feelings, and emotions, and to our rejection and resistance to the pain of the first arrow. It is these that prolong our perception of pain, for the more we resist them, the more persistent and intrusive they become (see deep-dive #3).
Why We Suffer
Even though we’ve come to believe, that in our digital, emotion-deprived world our lives must be a permanent state of happiness and perfection: life is not without pain. We’ve simply forgotten how to accept it as part of the experience. We see it as a flaw in the system, a glitch that must be quickly fixed and, in the worst case, suppressed. But actually, pain is a guest at the table of life. It wants and deserves to be seen. Not because we should love or long for suffering, but rather because it reminds us that we are alive. What if we welcomed it as part of our humanity, and with it, our ability to overcome pain?
The illusion of pain-free living is perhaps the greatest misconception of our modern age. The insight from the parable is the key to dispelling it: our actual suffering does not arise from the situation, the event, or the pain itself. It arises from our reaction to it.
One aspect of brain research and neuroscience is particularly interesting in this context: Our brain does not distinguish between real and imagined pain. It makes no difference whether we break our foot or someone else breaks our heart. It perceives social stress or social exclusion (such as heartbreak or bullying) as just as threatening to our survival as physical injuries. Both types of pain are processed in the anterior cingulate cortex or the insula, the same brain regions responsible for the emotional and sensory dimensions of pain. Studies, such as Naomie Eisenberger’s fMRI study “ ,” also demonstrate that our body responds to emotional pain with the same stress signals, e.g. the release of cortisol, increased heart rate, and often misread inflammatory reactions.
From this point on - as always with stress or uncertainty - the amygdala (our fear center) takes command, while the prefrontal cortex (our rational thinking apparatus) essentially shuts down and can’t get its act together fast enough (see deep-dive #5). The result? Our brain interprets pain as a threat to our body and well-being and starts to go into overdrive. We ruminate in a continuous loop, overanalyze, and search for answers. All of this only further activates our stress system (see deep-dive #4), causing our cortisol levels to rise even more. Chronic stress in loops and action!
Joseph Nguyen, author of Stop Believing What You Think, calls this the clown in your head (see deep-dive #11 and deep-dive #6). It is this part of us that constantly makes comments, sows doubt, and keeps us trapped as if in a cage. It is the part of us that fires this second arrow, and that causes the actual suffering. And the more often it does this, the more it reinforces the neural pathways and the flood of thoughts within us that drive us further and further away from reality.
The Emergency Exit
There is (as always) hope. Our brains remain evolving well into old age; a principle that neuroscientists call neuroplasticity (see deep-dive #1). Every time we choose not to fire that second arrow, we replace the rather obstructive neural pathways in our brains with new, healthier ones that better serve our vision of life.
As in many stressful situations, pauses and rest are a reliable way out (see deep-dive #15 and deep-dive #10). Studies show, for example, that just 17 minutes of relaxation after 52 minutes of concentration can lower cortisol levels and break the cycle of rumination.
Nguyen’s Pause Method can provide lasting support for this process. Its steps are practical, universal, require no tools, and are simple and effective:
Step 1: Acknowledge the thought without judging it.
Step 2: Breathe in and out consciously. Just three deep breaths can interrupt the automatic flow of thoughts.
Step 3: Ask yourself, Do I really need this thought?
If not, let it go.
If yes, take action in small, manageable steps, and act without overthinking.
In a seashell
To our wonderful brain, pain is pain. Emotional wounds therefore hurt us just as much as a knife wound. Conversely, they also require coping strategies similar to those for physical pain: mindfulness, a break, and above all, acceptance.
The way down from our self-inflicted carousel of thoughts and suffering lies in rethinking our perspective and our attitude. A key question we can ask ourselves is: Do I really need this thought? What does it do for me to hold on to it?
By recognizing the second arrow, we allow and empower ourselves to choose more consciously where we direct our energy. In this way, we see the possibilities for avoiding or at least minimizing suffering and escaping the bars of our mental prison.
Pain is inevitable. Suffering is not.
How Coaching can support
Insight and awareness are a great start. Coaching can further help us to
to identify our typical "second arrows" and the parts of ourselves that tend to hurl them at us, and
to name our thought patterns.
That alone strips them of much of the power they have over us.
In the safe space of a coaching session, we also practice how
to recognize in real time when and why we’re getting caught in the spiral,
to interrupt our autopilot using simple techniques (e.g., breathing exercises, reflective questions), and
we can use this to retrain our brains in a sustainable way to find alternative narratives about our pain and our suffering.
This translates our individual insights into small, achievable actions that are easy to integrate into daily life.
Ultimately, not every prison has bars. Some are made of thoughts.
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