“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before–more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.”
― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations
I have cried in public. Several times.
I used to be (maybe still am) very shy and insecure.
So bad that I would cry at nights, hide the wet tissues under my pillow, and wear dark eyeshadow the next morning to hide the puffiness. I was terrified that someone would ask: have you been crying?
Maybe I will talk about the why another day, thinking about it still tugs my heart a little. Emotional memory doesn’t lose its sharpness, it doesn’t get tardy.
But then, something changed. I don’t know exactly what. But I stopped caring. I have cried on the bus, at the gym, on the street, and on a plane.
I don’t cry all the time. I’m not depressed.
Crying is only an expression of a certain emotion. Like laughing, smiling, frowning. It’s humanly.
I used to be embarrassed of getting sad emotions. So I would hide it.
Being a female, expressing your emotions is more acceptable. But that’s because we are often perceived as weaker.
Having emotions and empathy do not equal weakness. They show that you are a functional person.
Men feel too. They might cry. That doesn’t alter the degree of their man-ness.
During upsetting quarrels, hit by a wave of desperate sorrow, I would fight a lump in my throat. I would sacrifice my voice, my words, and my logic. Because I would rather not let my opinion escape than a few drops of salty water.
I didn’t want to seem inadequate.
And if I pass a stranger on the street crying quietly, with an air of embarrassment around them, I won’t stare or get uncomfortable. I will let them feel their feelings.
Let’s all feel our feelings.