Awkward Crying

How do you know you’re actually moving on as an overly sensitive, emotive person? Sometimes I think I’ve got things under control and have a solid check on my emotions only to find myself choking back tears at weird, inappropriate times.  Like in an executive retreat at work when we’re sharing what we need from each other to support our teams in the work we do. Talk about awkward. But should my immediate response to tears be uncomfortableness or an attempt to block them out because it’s not appropriate? How did we as a society come to this conclusion that emotions are to be controlled in a work environment? Or in all our lives, for that matter?

I’ve never been good at managing my crying response.  Regardless of the emotion brought up, tears usually follow.  I had to stop watching drama t.v. shows because I ended the hour more drained than I started (Parenthood, anyone?). When the Toyota commercial comes on with the dad and his daughter growing up over time, pass the tissue box. Our interim pastor’s wife was recently diagnosed with cancer and watching person after person in the congregation stop and give him a hug during communion—cue waterworks.  Hear a compliment from a co-worker and I’m digging my fingernails into my palms to create pain that distracts me from my crying response. That empath, emotive side of me gets me in trouble in a world where we’ve been taught that crying is an inappropriate response to our emotions-no matter what the emotion is. “Don’t cry over spilt milk.” “There’s no crying in baseball.” “Big girls don’t cry.” To be read with much gusto, “Don’t cry out loud!” Yet, snarky retorts and sarcastic, quick wit are welcome, even preferred ways of coping with emotions. I admit, there are definitely spaces in which I am working on not being as sensitive and learning how to understand things not as personal attacks, but merely disagreements because lo and behold, I can’t control everyone else’s feelings.  And I’m also learning to accept that I’m a highly emotional person living in a world that doesn’t quite know what to do with those of us that feel things deeply. #INFJproblems.  

My gushing eyes really get to me in this space of infertility when I’m sharing with a friend or our small group where I’m at.  Even if it’s the 8th time I’ve explained a procedure or difficulty or new hurdle.  And it gets to me when I’m talking about the exciting potential of growing our family in non-biological ways. Those who know me well expect it, but it definitely throws others for a loop.  I know this journey is different for each person, so I don’t expect my internalization and reaction to the process to be the same as anyone else’s, but in a space where I already feel alone, crying doesn’t seem to help people know how to be with me. Sure, it releases endorphins and stress and all that science-y stuff.  Tears also create bubbles of silence and (my) cones of shame.

Please know that my tears are generally not because of something you did or said or mostly have nothing to do with my feeling anything other than intensity.  My tears are exhausting and freeing and uncomfortable and connective all smushed together with a cherry of peace on top.  A peace that envelops my shoulders and drills down to my core, warming me from both the inside and out.  A peace that I am not alone, despite the tears at socially awkward or unconventional moments.  And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.