I don’t cry– other than when I watch tragic movies or plays, read engaging endings to books or hear moving music. Even during those times I don’t really cry, not that consuming, vulnerable, open kind of crying. That seldom happens, most my friends say that never happens.
Last summer something awful happened to me, one which I refuse to talk about mostly because I’m embarrassed for the person who caused me so much hurt and pain but also because I honestly don’t know how to put it into words anymore. I feel that my words are so limited to describe how piercing the anger and betrayal I felt, how vivid the images were in my head, how they still haunt me at night.
Crying got me through it. As plain and uninteresting as that may sound, it’s the truth. It really helped me. It was a release that allowed me to recognize that something happened and that it’s okay for me to feel bad about it. I can admit that, as strong and tough as I am, that really got to me. Had I not broken down, I probably will still be in denial. I’ll still be convincing myself none of it ever happened.
If you feel like crying, just let it all out. Worry not about the stigma that comes with tears. This world should be far too busy solving its many problems to pick on you for trying to deal with your own.