How to Better Regulate Your Emotions | Dr. Marc Brackett

Brackett argues that the first step in regulation is adopting a healthier mindset: there are no «bad» emotions. Anxiety signals perceived uncertainty about something important to you. Anger points to perceived injustice. Happiness, if clung to obsessively, can paradoxically increase misery. He asks, «What's your relationship to anxiety?» When Huberman admits he hates it, Brackett reframes: anxiety is useful because it highlights what matters. The problem isn't the feeling—it's the assumption that it's harmful.

This mindset extends to capacity. Do you believe you can manage your anger, or is it fixed? Many people inherit beliefs from childhood—«This is the way I am»—that block growth. Brackett's father said, «Son, this is the way I deal with my anger. You're going to have to get used to it.» Brackett now sees that as a fixed mindset. The alternative is to ask: Is this emotion working for me in my relationships? If not, there are alternatives. Knowing that change is possible is the foundation of regulation.

Boys are still raised to believe that expressing «feminine» emotions—sadness, disappointment, shame—signals weakness and, by extension, incapability or even homosexuality. Brackett notes, «If you ask a hundred people to run like a gay man, they're still caught in the Revenge of the Nerds.» The stereotype persists: vulnerability equals fragility. This drives boys to suppress, deny, or convert emotions into anger, the one socially acceptable outlet.

Huberman reflects on his own upbringing: men weren't supposed to lose their temper or cry, while women had more permission. He internalized the idea that outward anger or sadness from men was a sign of losing control. Brackett contrasts this with schools that teach emotional intelligence: «I interviewed a bunch of teenage boys. They have a whole different perception. I asked, 'What if you get into a fight—can you talk about what happened?' And they're like, 'Of course. That's how we grew up.'» When boys learn that emotions are skills, not liabilities, the stigma dissolves. The key is systemic instruction, not just individual effort.

Brackett draws a powerful parallel between physical fitness and emotional regulation. Four years ago, he committed to working out four times a week. At first, it was a struggle—he questioned why he was doing deadlifts at 55. But he caught his self-sabotage: «Mark, this is what you do. You are a self-saboteur right now. The best version of you does all four sets.» Over time, it became non-negotiable. Now, even on days when he wakes up late, he cannot imagine skipping his workout. It's no longer a choice; it's part of his identity.

The same process applies to emotional regulation. The vision is to cultivate people who identify as well-regulated. «If you walk into a room thinking, 'I got this. Nothing you can say can trigger me. I can manage my emotions,' life is going to be completely different.» The journey has phases: first, just learning the basics; second, seeing small improvements; third, integrating the skills so deeply they become automatic. When regulation becomes «who you are,» the effortful struggle fades.

Huberman raises an underappreciated risk: positive emotions can be dangerous when unregulated. Over-affiliation and comfort lead people to say things they later regret—jokes that cross lines, disclosures that damage careers. He cites a chair of psychiatry who was fired for an inappropriate tweet, noting the tweets leading up to it showed escalating ease and joking. Brackett agrees: «Activation is activation.» Your heart rate and neurochemistry don't distinguish between excitement and anxiety. Both require regulation. He recalls teachers frustrated by students who can't stop talking about seeing grandma: the solution isn't to squash the excitement, but to give the child one minute to express it, then return to the lesson. «Positive emotions can be a pain in the butt, too.»