Kanisa George
"WHAT yah crying for?"
This is a question I've heard far too many times during my childhood and one I'm never too meek to answer as an adult. I have always been a crier, and the possibility of me heading into the next realm as a weeping, sobbing participant is pretty high. Crying, while uncontrollable at best, has always been a cathartic experience for me and not one I readily shy away from.
With the exception of childhood bouts of sadness and emotional crying, most adults I know associate crying with weakness, volatility and something that must be done only in extreme circumstances, in the presence of privacy.
Men, in particular, who are somehow naturally apt at rejecting emotional exchanges, are, for lack of a better word, allergic to tears. Whether the emotion centre of a man's brain has been altered to dispel tears or the systematic belief structure that teaches men ought to appear stolid even when faced with adversity, transient emotions synonymous with "weakness" have no place in a man's arsenal.
Even so, men aren't the only ones who fail in the crying arena. Some women also find it difficult to confront their sadness and embrace the free flow of emotions.
The fear of tears is no longer a narrative restricted by gender (though more endemic in males); for both men and women alike, fear the vulnerability that adjoins sadness and crying.
Emotions like sadness and anger are transient, coursing through us momentarily at high speeds, accompanied by turbulent winds. One writer defines emotions as fleeting, natural energies that move through us, arising when necessary and leaving just as effortlessly if we allow them to. But instead of allowing our emotions to exist naturally, moving where they lead us within reasonable limits, we cower in the wake of their reach and banish them as quickly as we can.
Most of us have been conditioned from a very young age to fear our emotions. Notably, we learn to suppress our sadness, fight our tears, and, most instructively, hide them from others and ourselves.
One writer posits that the stigma attached to crying is furthered by the idea that because we can sometimes exert a bit of control over our tears, any display of crying or tears outside the context of a handful of "appropriate" settings is an indication of some emotional imbalance rather than a completely normal response to a complicated emotion.
This approach does not bode well for long-term well-being, as it can severely impact physical and emotional health and one's ability to stand in one's truth.
As much as we try to avoid crying, emotional tears arise from intense feelings and can be triggered by empathy, compassion, sadness, physical pain, and moral and sentimental pain.
I think what's lost on most of us, or perhaps what we're most afraid of, is that our emotions openly communicate how we feel to others. And there's something in us that isn't settled with being vulnerable or giving access to our most authentic selves.
It might be our misgivings of others or fear that our vulner
