We’re not supposed to show our emotions, especially in public.
Especially if it involves tears!
I’m neurodivergent, and with that comes emotional dysregulation.
At least for me.
What that means is that I struggle to control how or when my emotions take over.
I’m not saying it’s impossible. For much of my life, I was successful at hiding them.
I built a wall a mile high. It was an invisible shield, nothing got through. You would have thought I was incapable of feeling anything.
When I was diagnosed a few years ago, something in me decided to say fuck it. I’m not masking how I feel anymore.
I don’t care what anyone thinks about it. If you don’t like it, we don’t have to be around each other.
For many of us, we grew up being told that showing our emotions is dramatic, or that it makes us weak. And if you’re a man? Yeah, supposedly that’s an absolute no no
To that I say, bullshit.
Here’s how I see it.
When you let yourself feel emotions as they happen, you are processing them real time.
The alternative is to bottle them up.
You can suppress your feelings till the cows come home, but I’m here to tell you, they come out eventually. And from what I’ve seen, those events can be far worse than a few tears shed in public.
So who’s the weak one?
Today I was driving along the M31 towards Sydney
and decided to listen to some oldies from the late great Dolly Parton.
Her original version of “I Will Always Love You” came on. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it. Her angelic voice, the tenderness, the selflessness, it brought me to tears.
Chase was sitting next to me on the princess perch I made for him.
A fluffy bed, topped with his favorite blanket, his girlfriend which is a Kong bear missing both eyes, an ear and part of an arm (he does unmentionable things to her), a bone, and his new koala toy.
He was judging me with his side eye glances, but not because of the tears. It was my awful singing.
The entire scene just reeked of emotion and humor and that’s when I thought…
I’m a 56 year old man and I cry.
A lot.
About sad things. Happy things. Beautiful things. Injustice. You name it. If that makes you think poorly of me, so be it.
I’m a hell of a lot stronger than you think.
—R. Michael
This is the first post for my new section called Unmasked.
Your neurodivergence isn't who you are, but it's part of everything you are, and finding out doesn't make the shame disappear.
Unmasked is where we go back through those moments and reconcile them.
Ido the same thing when I think about Chase. He's only seven, but I can't imagine my life without him.
62 yr old cry-at-the-drop-of-a-hat person here. Too sad, too joyful, too sublime, and here come the waterworks. I watch 'Casablanca' (repeatedly - at least once a month) and stock my spot on the sofa with a whole kitchen towel 'cause I know yet again I'm gonna bawl my eyes out at multiple scenes. I pet my 17-yr-old cat and find my eyes welling up at the thought 'how much more time do I have with him?'.
Heck, I can be telling my husband some anecdote about The Beatles and suddenly find myself choking up at the tale myself.
It's not melodrama nor pathos; it's just some folk feel life and its moments more deeply. Let others roll their eyes; people like us keep the world emotionally going. It's the others' loss if they sleepwalk through life - we'll happily (or sorrowfully - or whatever the case, intensely) keep the Kleenex manufacturers in business.