I Do Cry

I’m not a big crier… have never been one.

But I always love a good cry – and usually enjoy a good tear-jerker.

Tears are cathartic – and cleansing – a good way to just let go of a lot of pent up crap. And yes, I get it, and all that is good… but…

I’ve also learnt the hard way that letting go of long-repressed emotion and tears in front of someone who doesn’t know how to hold space, or respect the vulnerability of the moment… or worse, who doesn’t care, is far more hurtful than holding on to those tears.

So I don’t always cry.

And in the process, people like me do get this glorified title of being a tough-cookie, a rock-solid go-to-person, who doesn’t melt in a crisis or is so strong that being weak is not an option.

Well, I just said it…

Being weak is not an option.

But being vulnerable is.

But, being vulnerable in the hands of someone who doesn’t know how to handle the vulnerability of a really strong woman is disastrous and dangerous – fatal even!

So, I generally prefer not to cry…. it’s a coping mechanism… unhealthy, I know… but, well, it worked.

Until I realized that it would be harder to cry in the safety of my home – harder to cry in the place where I should feel safest to cry. I had to keep a strong front in front of my children and hold down the fort for them.

But…

I also realized that my home was the place it was most dangerous for me to cry. It was the place where being vulnerable was not an option. It was a place where keeping my back bare could have been the most riskiest thing to do.

In the process, when the emotions would threaten to overflow, I realized that physically moving out of the house would give me an opportunity to tear up – cars and cabs became my safe space to cry – because no one would see me. Earlier it was my driver who held space and allowed me to discreetly vent, but after he was let go, cab drivers became my silent witnesses. Most times they just allowed me the privacy of their backseat, other times, they grew distraught at not knowing how to react or what to do – sometimes making me laugh at having them worry if people would think they had done something. (No, I wasn’t bawling or moaning… not my style… ever!)

Anyway, that was my makeshift modus operandi. And it worked

Until the big heave happened.

And I froze, of sorts…. not knowing how and where to release this huge load of worry, fear, apprehension, grief, terror, whatever…

I was talking about it – attempting to share – but there was too much vocabulary going on.

So I shifted gears and moved to simple sentences – cold, simple facts.

And nothing happened with the facts…

Until something stirred when I, dry-mouthed, sensed the space in a conversation that allowed me to without preamble, shakily, speak my truth. Yes, they were still small sentences, cold, simple facts…. but the words came tumbling out.

There was no need to say anything, yet I did. There was no compulsion to speak, yet I spoke. There was no bias and no obligation, yet I was heard. And a few tears threatened to spill – (in public!!!) and I didn’t seem to care! I grumbled, I voiced my betrayal, I voiced my expectations and I voiced my shock at having been betrayed of and for those expectations.

And finally, little by little, that vulnerability was making it’s way out just by having someone be there, hold space and just be.

Phew! I cannot even begin to fully fathom and express how precious and special such people and such moments are. But I do recognize that in that taking, I had opened up a gateway to give back just as much.

You know who you are. And I know who I am.

I am strong.

I am vulnerable.

And…I do cry… a little more sometimes.

Thank you for checking in on your strong friend.