It takes very little to make me happy. And equally little to make me cry.
Tears came readily to me as a child and I was always told that I cry too much.
That only made me cry harder.
But it also taught me something else. That crying was something to be hidden, shunned and not used as a recourse. I was of the belief that I should become stronger by not crying.
For many years that’s what I did. I then hid pain so that nobody would know. I didn’t talk about deep sadness because that would mean I was vulnerable. And vulnerability was weakness.
Depression was waiting for me, around the corner, with candy in its hand and a fake smile. It wooed me away from reality, cloaking me in its plush robes that never lifted their heavy feel.
My therapist told me that I needed to cry. I needed to feel whatever I wanted to. That feeling was not bad. It wasn’t wrong to be upset, sad, angry, outraged. In fact, it’s healthy to talk about it.
So I did. Little by little, I opened up. I spoke about the pain in my heart, a pain so bad that I wanted to cut myself to make it stop.
And slowly, the fog lifted. The cloak gave way to an incredible lightness.
I could watch a movie and cry. I could see a text from a friend, asking me how I was and cry. I could put my head down and cry when things went wrong.
Talking about it helped. Letting myself feel the pain helped. Until the point where feeling good and feeling sad both elicited tears. And I realized that the tears come from the same vault. That vault that holds our feelings.
When we’re overcome with joy, we shed a tear. When you’re touched by the kindness of family or strangers, you cry.
And each time now that I cry, I let myself smile through the tears.
Day 30 of daily writing