I cry. You know this. I’ve talked about my crying in my writings. I’ve cried while writing. I’ve cried while reading. I’ve cried while watching TV. I’ve cried when listening to music.
I cry when I’m sad, stressed, angry, confused, and happy.
I cry when I see other people cry. I cry when I see other people who should cry but can’t.
Now there’s a time and a place for everything. I don’t cry every day. There are times when I need to suck it up. And there are times I have to let go. I can hold it together until the moment presents itself. Most of the time. But, as a general rule of thumb, I’m a crier.
And I’m okay with that.
But some people aren’t. Some people see my tears as a sign of weakness or anger or giving up. Some people see me as less than strong, as unmanageable, as someone who doesn’t “have it together”.
And to you, I say: That’s okay that you think that.
My tears mean I’m in touch with my emotions. My crying means they free-flow out of me. It’s part of what makes me a great writer. To be able to grasp the innermost workings of a person’s soul and spill them onto paper in a way that others can’t.
My crying means I see potential. I see how things could be, sometimes should be. I see how things were. I’m aware of change. I’m aware of all the What If’s and Used To Be’s. And I’m constantly fighting with myself to come to terms with What Is.
Yes, I’m embarrassed that a simple hug from a friend can start the waterworks. Yes, I’m frustrated that my heart rate elevates in proportion to my saline discharge. Yes, Yes, Yes! It’s uncomfortable. It’s awkward. It’s a bit stifling.
But it’s also a freedom. It’s how I work out what’s in my head and in my heart. I can drive through tears. I can still function. I can still cook, clean, write, sing, and dance while crying. I can, I have, I will continue to do so.
And I can process. I can process my thoughts, my feelings, my plans, the world at large. And I can come up with wonderful ideas and suggestions and characters and dialogue and settings and environments and stories.
I don’t mind that I’m a crier. Because I don’t do it all the time. And when I do, it’s authentic. And when I do, it doesn’t mean I’m only sad or angry or overwhelmed. Sometimes it means I’m all of these at once, plus happy and elated. And confused.
And when I cry, I can talk. I can say, “I’m crying because…” I’ve never said, “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
I feel more. I think deeper. I love stronger. I relive memories. Every bit of me is an electrified emotional experience. And so, on occasion, I cry. It’s just one more way I express myself.
And I don’t think expressing myself makes me weak.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!