On blotting those blotchy eyes...

I don’t know why, but I hate crying in front of people. Particularly if those people are either related to me or are strangers. What is it about it that I find so mortifying? Perhaps it’s my red-headed colouring that’s the problem. The normally ghostly-pale complexion that turns fire-engine red at the first sign of distress, the nose that could light Santa’s way long after the pain, stress, or grief or has faded. Or maybe that the whites of my eyes turn Barbie-pink as my mascara starts making raccoon drawings around my eyes.

No? What then? Embarrassing as all that is, it’s because, for some reason, I equate crying with being weak. And being weak equals disaster! To be avoided at all costs! Everyone knows that. No one wants to be around a wimp, a crybaby, a momma’s boy (or girl), a sissy, or a namby-pamby! (I found that last one in the thesaurus and thought it deserved mention). No one! They will all laugh! They will hiss and sputter and run away!

Jeez, how foolish. The truth is, no one wants to be around a “Rock of Gibraltar” persona all the time, an unfeeling shell, a fake. Upon reflection, I must say, it would be a scary, lonely world indeed were it filled with a people unable to feel sadness about their relationships to others.

So, although I still don’t like it, my higher-order-thinking-self is telling my lower-order-thinking-self that maybe sometimes it’s ok to cry, just a little bit. I said good-bye to my baby nephew today, and his parents. How could I not feel sad? But in feeling sad, I am happy and content because I have these relationships to begin with. I am a fortunate, lucky, loved girl. And maybe that’s something I can let myself shed a tear or two about.