the choked feeling
tighter and tighter
I can feel my head pound
louder and louder
I look up
I breathe
I force myself to find
a focus point
something other than your eyes
looking down at me in anger
looking down at me in confusion
looking down
at me
they sting
pouring out
but with every one
release
"If you're going to cry, go to your room"
you say in frustration
the words sting more than the liquid
pouring from my eyes
the struggle to regulate my breath
the struggle to breathe in this house
the door shuts
I cocoon myself in blankets
security you cannot give
I wait for the emotions to pass
for the waves to wash over me
for the breathing to slow
for the drought
Some people only have desert
and when life tousles them around
the sand pierces the steady of the landscape
and they suddenly have 'something in their eyes'
something...
that something is life
that something is real life
do not so easily dismiss
do not shove it down into submission
let the beautiful tears fall
because some people cannot cry
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I grew up with parents who both worked full time to try to support the family they made.
There were only two of us kids, but somehow, that was enough to struggle with.
My dad worked most nights and my mom worked most days. Leaving my brother and I with too much responsibility too young.
I was always a very emotionally aware person.
My mom said my compassion for others was overwhelming. My interest in how others truly felt was always peaked. I wanted to know how they truly felt and why. I was often in tune to this at an early age.
So one can imagine that, in a house of passing ships for parents and siblings parenting themselves, the tension was high. Thick. Always. 'Walking on eggshells' could have been coined in my house. For at every moment someone was ready to crack. Under the weight of life or expectation or ... what.. I don't know... I was too young to yet understand.
Whenever I cried, and I cried often, it was a release from all of this tension. It was a release from all of the emotions I was surrounded by, but could not yet process.
Whenever I cried, I was told to go to my room.
"Go to your room if you're going to cry."
"Go to your room if you're going to cry."
"If you're going to cry... go to your room."
"Ugh! I can't talk to you when you're like that."
"I can't understand you."
"I can't look at you when you're so emotional."
See the dismissive tone? The shame and shunning?
The anxiety built and built.
I had 3 suicide attempts before the age of 21.
I was not taught how to process the feelings.
I was taught to shut down the release.
Finally after my worst panic attack in my life, at the ripe age of almost 30, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. Sincerely. Sincerity to self.
I sought out therapy, again, and for real this time.
After an intense period of acceptance, reassurance, and processing I learned that it is ok.
It is ok to cry.
It is ok to release this way.
It is ok to talk things through and cry.
It is ok to laugh and cry.
It is ok to yell and cry.
It is ok to let the tears stream down quietly and loudly.
It is ok to process, to breathe, to live and not push it down.
It is ok to cry.
If you're still reading and this is resonating with you. . . I want you to know it is ok to cry.
It is ok to be still slightly annoyed with the fact that you cry over Hallmark commercials and nostalgic songs and a beautiful painting. It is ok to be still slightly annoyed at your heightened sense of pure life. I know, at times, I am annoyed with it.
I would not trade it though.
I would not trade it for feeling sick to my stomach and wanting to throw myself out of windows.
Would you?
Sincerely?
No. Because it is ok to cry.
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