Kayla B(e) Writing

With this being a new year, I wanted to make sure I didn’t leave the first month of 2020 without talking about something positive.

Let’s talk about crying.

Stay with me.

Lately, I’ve been crying buckets of tears. Tears that came despite my determination to suck them up. Immediately I grabbed a tissue each time and tried to block the flow of water from my eyes before they ran down my cheeks. I had a counselor in my college days who used to tease me about this. She said she never saw someone who blotted their eyes to prevent tears. That would just make me laugh but then cry harder.

Anyway, growing up I didn’t express my feelings as freely as I am attempting to do now. Typically emotions, mental health, therapy are not topics embraced in Black communities. Unsurprisingly, I’ve heard the same narrative from other people of color. I think nowadays it is becoming more common for it to be addressed. But I know for me, my parents, my parents’ parents and so on–talking about that kind of stuff was near to impossible. Reaching adulthood, I used to beat myself up for crying. I felt so ashamed and felt weak. I wasn’t honoring the identity that Black women are “supposed” to embody; aggressive, no-nonsense having lionesses. I was just too sensitive.

So, I pressed my feelings down. Way down to the pits of my body where they leaked out in poor life choices, anxiety, and isolation. Depression was so severe I lost the ability to care. I was convinced that I was a weakling. I didn’t want to live a shameful life. I didn’t want to let anyone down. And being so sensitive, I was sure that was what I was doing.

It wasn’t until I rediscovered therapy at 23 that I realized how distorted my thinking was. Repressing my feelings and ignoring them was driving me crazy. If I didn’t let it out somehow, I would self-destruct. I learned that people who can let out their feelings healthily are not weak but are very strong. I don’t have to apologize for being a sensitive person. Being sensitive helps me empathize with people and it drives me to help others. Being sensitive fuels my creativity. It makes me a good friend and partner. It makes me who I am. To be ashamed of it was not just hurting a part of me, but the core of me.

Nowadays I’m doing better. If I feel something negative, I practice acknowledging it and letting it sit. No repressing. No shaming. Just accepting. If I need to cry, I do it. Sometimes I instantly try to hold it in, almost like a reflex but very soon I know I can’t, and I let it go. I cry quietly with the covers over my head. Or I ugly cry surrounded by tissues. Sometimes there’s no tears and that’s fine too. I just sit with the feeling. I say “hi” to it. I pull up a chair for it. I look it in the eye. I accept that I am a human and that I can’t be happy all the time and anyone who expects that from me, doesn’t deserve me. And when the bad feeling passes, as it always does, I find myself again and embrace myself with love.