I feel it in my throat before it happens — the gradual build-up of anxiety that eventually closes my windpipe and leaves me breathing heavily. I feel the stinging in my eyes next, blurring my vision before a sob finally racks my chest, and the tears fall.
My struggles with sensitivity have spanned my entire life. For as long as I can remember, I’ve immediately resorted to crying to help me process being overwhelmed by emotion — regardless if it was sadness, happiness, anxiety or fear. It was a stabilizing road I could take when things in my life went wrong. Whether it be a test I was anxious about or a movie that tugged at all the right heartstrings, I would always resort to expressing my emotions through tears. Though I initially never saw crying as an imperfection, the common stigma that crying is “weak” has always made me struggle with explaining my situation to people. People toss me confused glances and expressions of sympathy before throwing me the same words I’d heard my whole life: “You’re so sensitive.”
The phrase was thrown around casually, a simple matter-of-fact statement about my identity that couldn’t be changed. I internalized the word “sensitive.” To me, it meant “weak” and “irritating.” I reasoned that people found my constant crying bothersome, and extended that same view to myself.
One night sophomore year, I was feeling incredibly anxious the night before a test, frustrated at myself for not understanding a concept and exhausted from my lack of sleep. I began to feel the thick emotion in my throat, tears prickling in my eyes and my frustration skyrocketing. I screwed my eyes shut and clenched my fists. I’m not a baby, I told myself. This is stupid. I’m not crying over this. I swiped at my eyes, willing myself to stop, but I couldn’t control the hot tears that slid out from under my palms. I couldn’t help but feel even more embarrassed, like I was cursed with a coping mechanism that worked against me.
My friends would constantly tell me that it was a good thing — that they were jealous of my ability to let up my pent-up anger in a way that was healthy. Inwardly, I scoffed. Being “in touch with your emotions” was a curse, not the blessing so many of my friends disguised it to be.
I kept this attitude throughout the entire year. My sophomore year posed challenge after challenge, and I began an endless cycle of crying in exhaustion and then feeling ashamed for doing so. The more I cried, the more I began to hate myself for it.
On a particularly bad day, I was emotionally wrung out and broke down sobbing in front of one of my close friends — one that I didn’t mind shedding my tears in front of. I let everything out, all my frustration, anger and emotional downs poured out as I let myself feel everything. After a couple of minutes, my friend handed me a tissue and asked me, “How do you feel?”
After reflecting, I realized I felt good, almost as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. This was typically how I felt after every emotional processing, yet the feelings of shame rooted with crying quickly overshadowed that and left me feeling guilty rather than liberated.
My friend then told me, “You know, I’ve noticed the way you beat yourself up when you express yourself. You don’t have to be scared to cry. It’s just your body’s natural reaction, and at the end of the day, it’s just tears.”
Hearing those words changed my perspective entirely. She was right. It was just tears. My entire life, I had attached a stigma to crying and thought of it as a dramatic and unnecessary reaction that I somehow always defaulted to. But reducing it to what it actually was — tears — helped me realize that it truly didn’t matter how I processed my emotions as long as it helped me. It was nothing more than a biological response to a trigger, far from the demonized definition I’d created in my head. From then on, I stopped viewing my sensitivity as a weakness and viewed it more as a privilege that allowed me to feel my emotions.
So, dear reader,
Everybody has different coping mechanisms that, if they aren’t harming others, all hold validity. Don’t let a stigma surrounding a certain coping mechanism stop you from dealing with your emotions the way that you need to. School can be an overwhelming environment, and you should be able to deal with your emotions the way you need to in order to be successful, whether that be journaling, meditating, crying or something else entirely. Find what works for you, stick with it and don’t let outside commentary or internalized fears stop you from taking care of yourself. Take it from me.
Sincerely,
