I didn’t know how to cry.
Throughout my life, various circumstances have been the mortar and bricks of my heart – leaving no room for feeling to seep in. as a result, I have been the cold one of my friends – the one who didn’t know how to share what I was feeling, didn’t know how to express her feelings for anyone (relationships or friendships), didn’t know how to talk about what made her mad, sad, happy, elated, upset. It was a bizarre twist on strength – in my mind, I had to hold onto every bit of strength I had, since in my childhood and adolescence, I had lost so much control over it to others, I wanted to salvage what was left of it, and display it to the world in the most obvious way I knew how. But by being the ‘tough’ girl, I was more than likely the most cowardice - Like bre’s post specifically on relationships/breakups, but more broadly, on the cowardice of not allowing ourselves to feel what is the reality of these ‘tough’ situations.
Then slowly, cracks appeared. Cracks that were the results of various things that were completely out of my control. Cracks that turned into caverns, that – much to my surprise – resulted in tears.
I think it started when my boyfriend of almost 3 years and I started to end things. I moved out of my apartment, and I started needing to depend on people – to live on their couches. I couldn’t be alone in my most vulnerable times – like when him and I got into a fight about the future of ‘us’. the simple idea of not knowing where my next bed would be caused stress, that only compounded the vulnerability and sadness of everything else going on. Then, I dated. I dated mostly guys who I didn’t think much of, but then I dated a guy who made me feel whole. We spent 2 months together, and for the first time, I found myself saying to people, ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think he’s my perfect man’. I found myself excited about a future with him, and enjoyed spending every moment with him. And then, out of nowhere, he crushed my heart. Just a change of heart, or a lack of comfort in his own skin. That was a year ago. I (jamie type) cried every day for 6 months over the thought of losing perhaps the only person I would ever ever feel that way about. And I (jamie type) cried for being ashamed for crying. Throughout this, I dealt with multiple issues relating to my apartment – none of them at the fault of my landlords, but all of which required time and patience to correct. I had a slow falling out with a friend, that never really peaked, but as a result left so many things unanswered, and left me hurting in a way I didn’t know how to deal with. I dealt with my first true love leaving the country, and therefore putting a nail in the coffin of ‘us’ – though I knew it was over – and learning to be me again.
Throughout all this I was going through some very serious health testing – learning things about my health, and my subsequent future that was hard to take at any time during the year, let alone in a time when I was being battered emotionally from every other angle as well.
I’m not sure when it was that I just let go. When I finally said to myself, “that pain in your throat, that ache in your gut, that headache – you have to just let go, or that won’t go away”.
And I did. I had spent – at this point – a month on my couch, not only reeling in my physical pain, but having to confront my emotional pain about the heartbreak I had endured (and felt ashamed / embarrassed / ridiculous about). And I let go.
I put in a movie that I knew would make me cry, skipped to a scene that I knew would start it going (ok fine – it was a sports movie, and it was probably a scene in which they won a championship, came together as a team, or did something equally emotional for me), and then just cried. I’m sure relative to most, it was a small cry. A few tears, without much of an outburst. But for me, it was enough. Enough to show myself that I would be ok to acknowledge my pain, and still be a strong person.
I say all this, not because I’ve come to some grand conclusion about what it means to cry, or about how big or strong of a person I am because I can now cry – not even to say I’ve learned how to cry, and do it all the time, and I’m so much better off because of it. I still rarely cry. I still find myself in situations where crying would be appropriate, and I simply can’t bring myself to do it. I still feel sometimes like a good cry would help, but I can’t find the place inside of me where most people would know how to access these tears.
I instead found that crying brought me to a place where I could accept feeling. I never did this before – thought that feeling made me weak; made me less of a person. But by crying – by being so deconstructed, to a point where I had nothing left but tears – I was able to rebuild what I wanted of myself… and through the crumbled concrete, I could let those small bits of emotional jamie (and trust me – they are small) shine through.
And most importantly, it showed me that it was ok to love. And with love, it was ok to hurt, trust, and be real. i don't refer to love in the relationship sense – though I’m sure that will come for me, as it does for most. It was the love for myself that came out of this most importantly. And as a result, the love for those around me, and how i could actually act on that love.
When I read this article in the New York times, I was smitten – and totally agreed. those emotions that emulsify often into tears - both good and bad - are worth it. the most brave thing to do is to feel, because it gives you small windows of time in which you can actually be human - and not simply a being, constructed of the same biological material as those who feel, but lacking those important parts.
Throughout my life, various circumstances have been the mortar and bricks of my heart – leaving no room for feeling to seep in. as a result, I have been the cold one of my friends – the one who didn’t know how to share what I was feeling, didn’t know how to express her feelings for anyone (relationships or friendships), didn’t know how to talk about what made her mad, sad, happy, elated, upset. It was a bizarre twist on strength – in my mind, I had to hold onto every bit of strength I had, since in my childhood and adolescence, I had lost so much control over it to others, I wanted to salvage what was left of it, and display it to the world in the most obvious way I knew how. But by being the ‘tough’ girl, I was more than likely the most cowardice - Like bre’s post specifically on relationships/breakups, but more broadly, on the cowardice of not allowing ourselves to feel what is the reality of these ‘tough’ situations.
Then slowly, cracks appeared. Cracks that were the results of various things that were completely out of my control. Cracks that turned into caverns, that – much to my surprise – resulted in tears.
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| originally from weheartit.com/ |
Throughout all this I was going through some very serious health testing – learning things about my health, and my subsequent future that was hard to take at any time during the year, let alone in a time when I was being battered emotionally from every other angle as well.
I had a birthday, that was a rough one.
Then, in November, as I’ve mentioned many times before, I hurt my back. In a split moment, I stood up, and what we originally thought was a ruptured disc, turned out to be shattered a vertebrae, another damaged vertebrae, a few slipped discs, and both hip flexors torn. I didn’t cry, but was in shock.I’m not sure when it was that I just let go. When I finally said to myself, “that pain in your throat, that ache in your gut, that headache – you have to just let go, or that won’t go away”.
And I did. I had spent – at this point – a month on my couch, not only reeling in my physical pain, but having to confront my emotional pain about the heartbreak I had endured (and felt ashamed / embarrassed / ridiculous about). And I let go.
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| originally from weheartit.com |
"Tears symbolize so much. A letting go, an accepting, but mostly feeling. Feeling is happening. How sad that I used to not allow feeling to happen, as if it was wrong. Tears are not wrong. Feeling is not wrong.” - your joyologist
i felt a sort of release - and to avoid sounding corny, i felt completion and closure, in a way that i never had before. and i felt it, despite letting something go - and in my factual, black and white mind, i couldn't compute how losing something could equate to gaining something. but i also realized that it didn't matter - that the logic i had been using to govern my life for so long, wasn't helping me any. it had brought me to a point of no return - and when i finally let go of that, i was able to actually sit in the middle of my life, and see everything around me like a planitarium... and when it was all placed around me like that, it made it a little easier to handle; a little more real; a little more painful, and yet a lot more manageable.I say all this, not because I’ve come to some grand conclusion about what it means to cry, or about how big or strong of a person I am because I can now cry – not even to say I’ve learned how to cry, and do it all the time, and I’m so much better off because of it. I still rarely cry. I still find myself in situations where crying would be appropriate, and I simply can’t bring myself to do it. I still feel sometimes like a good cry would help, but I can’t find the place inside of me where most people would know how to access these tears.
I instead found that crying brought me to a place where I could accept feeling. I never did this before – thought that feeling made me weak; made me less of a person. But by crying – by being so deconstructed, to a point where I had nothing left but tears – I was able to rebuild what I wanted of myself… and through the crumbled concrete, I could let those small bits of emotional jamie (and trust me – they are small) shine through.
 |
| originally from weheartit.com |
When I read this article in the New York times, I was smitten – and totally agreed. those emotions that emulsify often into tears - both good and bad - are worth it. the most brave thing to do is to feel, because it gives you small windows of time in which you can actually be human - and not simply a being, constructed of the same biological material as those who feel, but lacking those important parts.
"This is not to say that love is only about fighting. Love is about bottomless empathy, born out of the heart’s revelation that another person is every bit as real as you are. And this is why love, as I understand it, is always specific. Trying to love all of humanity may be a worthy endeavor, but, in a funny way, it keeps the focus on the self, on the self’s own moral or spiritual well-being. Whereas, to love a specific person, and to identify with his or her struggles and joys as if they were your own, you have to surrender some of yourself.
The big risk here, of course, is rejection. We can all handle being disliked now and then, because there’s such an infinitely big pool of potential likers. But to expose your whole self, not just the likable surface, and to have it rejected, can be catastrophically painful. The prospect of pain generally, the pain of loss, of breakup, of death, is what makes it so tempting to avoid love and stay safely in the world of liking.
And yet pain hurts but it doesn’t kill. When you consider the alternative — an anesthetized dream of self-sufficiency, abetted by technology — pain emerges as the natural product and natural indicator of being alive in a resistant world. To go through a life painlessly is to have not lived. Even just to say to yourself, “Oh, I’ll get to that love and pain stuff later, maybe in my 30s” is to consign yourself to 10 years of merely taking up space on the planet and burning up its resources. Of being (and I mean this in the most damning sense of the word) a consumer."