Only I could manage to cry every day and still avoid my actual feelings

I thought emotional release was enough. Turns out, I was wrong.

I think I found a clue.

For a few years now, I’ve been sitting with my feelings every morning, for an hour, allowing myself to express those feelings any way that felt appropriate, or necessary, in order to get my feelings out.

I started doing this sometime in 2023 — probably around the time I started this newsletter.

Though, not intentionally. I mean, the two events happened around the same time… but that doesn’t mean I planned it to happen that way.

Although… sitting with the emotions probably made it possible for me to be as vulnerable as I am in the newsletter… so, maybe it wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe I just didn’t know, at the time, what my subconscious was actually doing.

But, either way, that’s not the clue. That’s just an observation…

For as long as I can remember, and for more reasons than I can fit in one letter… I’ve spent the majority of my life avoiding my feelings.

Lying about them.

Ignoring them.

Pretending they don’t exist.

Trying to do anything at all, except “feel what’s there to be felt.”

And I had good reason to. My emotions are powerful… like, even today, at 49, they make me come undone. Every. Single. Day.

I’m not talking like, “I cry at Hallmark commercials.” (Though, I do…)

I’m talking like, cry like a four-year-old in Disneyland who wants to go on one more ride and just got told it’s time to go back to the hotel and take a nap.

Yeah… it’s ugly.

And it hurts like you wouldn’t believe.

I hate it. Most times, when I cry really hard, it feels like I’m physically being ripped apart…

Like something is stuck to my insides, and the crying is tearing it loose, and forcing it out of my abdomen, up through my chest cavity, into my throat, where it’s more likely to get caught for a minute, while I question whether I’m really ready to express the emotion — or if I’d rather swallow it back down, and see if I can leave it for another time.

And it’s been like that, since the first time I sat alone in my apartment, and allowed my emotions to come out and play. It’s not like a one-time thing; it’s not a rare occurrence; it’s every single morning that I’m alive.

It got more intense when I was in the mental hospital, and at first, that really scared me. I thought I’d gone there to get help with my mental health… and I thought that more crying meant I was somehow doing things more wrong.

And I hated myself for that, for a couple of weeks.

I thought I was getting worse, and I started to wonder if maybe I was justified in wanting to end my life… because… why would I want to stick around, just for more of that? If I was only going to descend deeper into the darkness…

Well, thankfully, I didn’t.

I mean, sure, I kept crying. And yeah, for a bit, it got louder… heavier… more intense… more frightening… more all-consuming…

But then one day, it got less, somehow. Like I still cried, hard, but I told the nurses I wanted to be alone and just let it all out, and not be interrupted, and they left me alone, and they let me cry it all out, and it was one of the worst crying episodes I’ve ever had in my life!

And then it was done, and within seconds, I knew it was done. I knew I’d cried out all that I had in me, in that moment… and the pain was gone… and all that was left, was relief.

I slept that night better than I’ve slept in 20 years.

But the next day, I was crying again. Something new had set me off, and I had a whole new box of ugly emotions inside, lining up for their chance to come out… and I hated it… and it hurt… and I cried hard but I didn’t cry all the way to the end… and I didn’t get the same relief.

I still got some relief — because even crying part of it out, still releases the pressure. But what I’ve learned is that until you cry all of it out, that same wound just continues to fester, and more emotion builds up, and has to be released, and if you cry a little bit, it helps a little bit… but if you want the wound to close, and heal… you have to get it all.

But that’s not the clue, either. That’s just something I’m glad I finally figured out.

The thing is: even in the hospital, I hated crying.

In fact, I probably still do.

And that’s a big problem for somebody who spends on average, one hour per day bawling my eyes out, loudly enough to wake Caesar’s ghost all the way in Italy (and I’m in Nowheresville, West Texas…)

But my body feels better once the tears are gone.

So, I kinda made a deal with myself:

I’ll allow the tears to come every morning, but I don’t wanna be personally involved. I’ll put on my headphones, set a timer, open Pandora, and listen to 80s rock ballads while my emotional mind does its thing.

I get distracted by music I grew up with — and my body gets to release decades-old trauma.

I don’t like it, but it works.

Somewhat.

Sort of.

Kind of.

Except:

I’m still avoiding the pain.

I’m just being sneaky about it.

I’m telling myself, “I’m allowing the emotion to move through me, and that’s a good thing!” But I’m putting on my headphones so I can escape the intensity of my emotions… so… it’s like, yeah, things are moving again… but nothing is getting integrated.

And I kinda knew that, but I guess I didn’t think it was hurting me… I just thought, “Emotions out = pain gone.” But some of the pain always remained.

Until one morning, when I randomly decided not to put on my headphones, but to simply sit, in silence, and let myself cry, and let my emotional mind and my logical mind meet, while I “descend into darkness.”

And I gotta tell you: it was weird………………………………………………………………………

All of a sudden, I was allowing myself to experience myself, feeling heavy emotions; emotions that I’ve made a habit of avoiding since probably seventh grade.

I wasn’t “confronting” the emotions.

I wasn’t “embracing” them.

I wasn’t trying to fix them, or even comprehend them.

I wasn’t trying to make everything come out so I could put it down and never pick it back up again.

I was just… sitting. In silence. Aware of my emotional pain. Allowing my emotional pain. Perhaps “living alongside” my emotional pain? I don’t know.

But what I do know is that it hit different than all the times before, when my attitude was basically, “Okay, I’ll let you do this, but make it fast, and please don’t involve me in the process.”

Because now it’s like, “Oh, it’s you. I remember feeling you once before. Is there anything you’d like to tell me, or do you just want me to sit with you for a while, until you’re ready for us to go our separate ways?”

I’m not trying to avoid my feelings.

I’m not trying to control them.

I’m not trying to escape them.

In fact, I’m not trying to do anything but just… sit… and wait… and notice what comes up.

And it still hurts.

But somehow, when I’m not fighting my own feelings, suddenly they’re not as intimidating as before.

They’re heavy, but they’re not overpowering.

They’re deep, but I’m not drowning.

They’re difficult — but no part of me is “wrong” anymore, for having them.

And to be frank, I’d still prefer not to have such heavy, deep, difficult emotions.

But they’re already there. They’re already inside me.

And from where I’m standing, I can only see two options: keep them bottled up, until the day I die; or sit down and have a powwow, and learn how to make peace with my own inner self.

Someday, I’m gonna die, regardless. And I suspect, when we die, our “ugly” emotions don’t go with us…but still… why carry it all around with me, everywhere I go, between now and the day I die?

When now, I know I can sit down, and let them come up, and we can start to make friends? It feels more painful, in the moment. But now, when my heavy emotions come up, and I allow them, and acknowledge that they’re trying to show me something…

Suddenly, the pain gets less. Sometimes, a little. And sometimes, a lot.

And from what I’ve experienced, that’s true whether I actively participate in the process, or throw on my headphones, and distract myself while I cry it all out.

But it sure seems like the whole process runs smoother when I willingly participate, and allow myself to feel what I’m feeling.

So, like I said, I think I’ve found a clue.

It may not explain or justify any part of why I cry…

But it may help me understand, better, how to cry…

And as long as I’m already crying… anything that makes it easier or more accessible for me… is worthy of further investigation.