Crying Like a Big Girl

I cried the other day

-no, not the blubbering I do when the Boston Pops play the ‘1812 Overture’ right before the fireworks on the 4^th of July, or the tears of pride I let loose every single time I watch Susan Boyle’s first audition on Britain’s Got Talent, or even the goofy “I’m so HAPPY!” wet mess that I become every time I watch a video of soldiers being reunited with family and pets-

No, this was that ugly cry; you know, the one that Carrie Underwood is talking about when she sings that there is no way to “Cry Pretty” while wearing bedazzled thigh-high black boots with glitter pouring from her eyes.

Yeah. Just like that.

The reason doesn’t matter, because it’s no different a reason than every other adult has had more than once in their lives. It’s just life. Sometimes, things get to you.

What makes this event worth mentioning are the peripheral circumstances, because, aside from the above-mentioned, tear-filled blubberfests I have not cried – I mean cried cried – since 2013.

This event is also nothing like Cameron Diaz’ inability to cry in the movie The Holiday, either. She couldn’t even shed a tear. I can and have shed plenty – and her ‘crying’ at the end doesn’t even come close to my wailing, snot-laden, throat-scraping, pulling-everything-up-from-the-gut, pretty moment of last week.

I’ve had times over the past few years that I’ve felt like crying and wanted to, but couldn’t. When I’ve felt every single feeling I know rise up all at once, needing to be let out, and unable to let any of it go. That feeling makes things worse by adding a new restlessness that has me pacing in circles with a unique burst of useless energy only good for … well, pacing in circles. And being able to shed a tear or two just adds insult to injury, like almost getting that first lick of ice cream just as the whole scoop falls off the cone onto the sidewalk.

Sometimes it got really bad. I could feel this tightness inside of me that nothing would relax, and after spending the workday pretending everything was fine I would go home and watch compilation videos of pet rescues, hoping to force a cry. Nothing but the usual blubbering.

Outside of those intense moments, I never think about it. (Fortunately, I don’t want to cry all the time!)

Then the other day happened. I know that the event that led to my outburst was only the tipping point, but it was enough. I started swearing and stomping my feet all the way to my car, and once I started driving the dam burst; no trickle of tears building to a cry, but full-on sobbing that went on for a few minutes.

And then something funny happened: I realized how good it felt. Really, really good. And in that moment I also realized that I was crying. Finally!

And all of a sudden, it was freaking hilarious! I was sobbing because I felt I was at the end of my rope, and noticing how great it felt! Then, of course, I was laughing because I was so happy that I was finally experiencing a release of pressure – that is what crying gives us. A release. Thank God it was 4 a.m. with no real traffic on the road because if anyone had seen me I’m sure they would have thought I was a lunatic with my red eyes, fresh tears on my cheeks, and a runny nose – laughing as if my best friend walked out of the ladies’ room with the back of her skirt tucked in her underwear. Yes, I would laugh at that.

That release made such a difference in how I handled the rest of that day, and how I handled the following day – a day that was supposed to be good, but that I could have ruined with my own stress. Even now, I’m so very aware of a feeling of less pressure despite the fact that the situation hasn’t changed. It’s actually pretty amazing.

So go on, let it out if you need to.

Big girls should cry.