I’ve had this experience a few times lately: I’m talking with a dear friend, listening to her troubles. I’m touched that she’s sharing. I’m mindful that this isn’t the sort of talking she does with everybody. I’m feeling humble, and I’m hearing that it’s hard, what she’s experiencing.
I notice a sliver of a puddle above her lower lid, and then one tear tips easily over her lower lashes. She wipes it away, continues talking, the skin beneath her eye now damp. My chest is opening, expanding into my belly, my throat. I’m still listening.
First and foremost, I feel lucky to be here with her right now. Second, I’m amazed that she’s telling me what’s hard for her, without closing up. Third, I don’t yet comprehend the way the tears come easily for her, and without shame, and I admire that. A lot.
My own tears are hard to come by these days. It’s something that happens when I’m on Zoloft, as I have been, off and on, for years: I’m mostly free of depression, but it’s pretty difficult to cry. It’s also hard when you’ve been told your whole life to stop crying. When the moment presents itself, and crying is exactly the thing you want to do, the thing that would let the sad or the mad or the frustrated run its course, the conditioning kicks in and you just can’t do it.
Before the Zoloft, my tears were plentiful. I sometimes feel like I spent all of high school crying over any grade that wasn’t an A. That’s the thing, though: I was crying over grades instead of the deeper, harder stuff. I was crying over the things that were easy to cry over.
There have been deep dips since then, the times that always led to trying to get into a psychiatrist’s office as quickly as possible. Those were the times when I’d do everything with tears streaming down my face. I’d walk down the streets of Manhattan, drive over the 520 Bridge, go to the bathroom at work, feeling like my eyes were two inconvenient waterfalls. There was nothing I could do about it; nothing at all.
So now I’m learning to strike a balance. To tread a line where my emotions aren’t so far buried that tears never come, and expressed enough that the ones that spill are meaningful. I don’t expect to ever find the “perfect” balance, and that’s fine. For now, I’m grateful to be there when my friends spill a tear or two. I appreciate them. And I learn from them.
How close to the surface are your emotions? How do you feel about this?
hi kyle. I so enjoy your posts. I don’t have any solid response to the closing question, just wanted to say….I know what you mean! Sometimes the tears come so quickly, and sometimes not at all. We humans are awfully intriguing beings. Thanks for being here.
arg. Imagine the first sentence of that last post says “Hi Kylie”! Ahhh, the curse of not proofreading!!
I was often ridiculed for my tears by my foster mom, “crocodile” is what she called me…fucking hurt. And I grew up always being told that I was “too sensitive” because I felt things deeply, and expressed them deeply too.
Years late, I am thankful that I have left those shaming voices behind ~ yes I am sensitive, yes I do cry when touched by beauty, pain and other’s experiences of the same. It’s make me a damn good listener, it makes me empathic to others, it makes me a good shoulder to lean & cry onto…and mostly it makes me an awesome mother to a sensitive little girl whom I encourage to get it out whenever she needs to ’cause a good cry never hurt no one!
Kylie, it is a beautiful thing to witness your own compassion to someone else’s tears and especially towards your own. Thank you for this. I say cry on when the moment moves you/us…they are puddles of words from our heart.
Peace,
Goddess Tenacity
I’m touched by this post, kylie, because what I actually missed about myself when I was depressed– before my eating disorder– was my ability to freely cry. I understand what you mean about striking a balance.
during my ed I used starving and stuffing to stop feeling anything. I was unable to cry for several years during this time. I learned to cry slowly again through recovery, and then I became happy, and then I thought I just wasn’t sad anymore. but in the past few months I’ve cried a ton… And I’m grateful for the experience. I’ve finally regained more what I lost during my nightmare– my heart, my ability to feel.
Meagan: Thank you! I really appreciate that. Also, yes. We are very intriguing beings.
Goddess Tenacity: Oh, sweetie! That sounds so painful. Hugs for you. It’s so wonderful that, now, you’re able to be so fantastically proud of your emotions. Your daughter is very, very lucky.
Sui: It seems that’s very common with EDs — that they’re a coping mechanism, just like addictions or other forms of self-harm. And so, as a result, they can effectively block the feeling of most emotions, whether those emotions are helpful ones or harmful ones. I’ve certainly heard from you how healing and cleansing crying has been for you, particularly recently. It’s beautiful.
Hi Kylie, What a beautiful post! I think I have told you this before, I cry freely….and I think you’ve seen me cry! I always felt it was a negative trait of mine. Your thoughtful post made me re-think that.
Florence: Oh my goodness, I so admire your teariness! I always remember you talking about how cleansing you thought it was to have a good cry at a sad movie. In fact, I’m pretty sure I thought about that when I was writing this post!
[...] I just love this gorgeous post about learning to strike a balance and feel your feelings. [...]