Small children have no shame or compunction about bursting into tears. Girls cry more than boys, and women cry longer than men (men do cry despite the stigma of weakness). Research states that crying releases oxytocin and endorphins, chemicals that make us feel better. That said, we are all wired differently and tears do not always prove the catharsis they are supposed to be.
Uniquely, the black community endure Race-based Traumatic Stress (RBTS), a collective historical trauma carried from one generation to the next. Moreover, black women renowned for their resilience are generally not crybabies. It’s as if a hard life takes everything, even our tears.
I cry when good or bad things happen. One of my earliest memories was seeing my mother cry, witnessing she was in pain. I was to realise later she was experiencing labour pains. I also cried when in hospital as the technician approached with an electric saw to cut my body caste from the neck down, wanting my mother. Also, I once cried in panic, fear, disorientation, feeling lost, coming out of the exit of an unfamiliar underground train station. I didn’t recognise where I was. Suffice it to say I overcame my panic and continued my journey.
However, as an adult I rarely cried when life happened. Whether unconsciously or not, I didn’t find crying cathartic and was proud of my ‘hard nut’ façade. I didn’t cry when my father died. When my siblings all fell apart, and there was much to organise, I got on with the organisation because someone had to do it and was the eldest. When a friend betrayed me, I told myself I was better off without her, shedding no tears in regret. I couldn’t relate when a colleague sobbed when her cat died. My immediate thought was, jeez, really? Not being a cat lover supposedly didn’t help.
Now that I’m a senior, I have come full circle. My trigger scenarios are watching certain films, when my grandson sent me a Mother’s Day video of him eating and enjoying a particular food I like, when I have poignant memories of my mother and when someone gives me a significant compliment. I usually tear up discretely and rarely in public. On the contrary, it is heart-wrenching to witness someone crying in public; it instinctively stirs up empathy.
And on that note, I’m off to watch a tear-jerker film and will unashamedly cry.
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