The Eyes Have It

Hello my darlings!

“I’m not much of a crier.”

I say this to people when the topic of crying comes up. And it was true. I’ve never been much of a tear shedding type. When I was a kid, if I got in trouble, I wouldn’t cry. I’d turn into a stormy-faced robot, back up to a wall, and attempt to bore holes into the floor with my laser scowl.

Even as an adult, if I get really pissed, or into a feels-heavy argument, you could count on me to turn into this bizarre, calm, lawyer-esque creature which actually kind of terrified me a lot.

I like feelings. It makes little sense that I will legit shut down over sadness. A very confusing situation.

So, a year or so ago, I was relaying my cold dead heart concerns to my husband and I honestly couldn’t think of a time I’d been so sad I’d cried tears. Seriously, other than my cat getting hit by a car in the second grade, I never get sad enough to cry.

I get angry. Upset. Hurt. Scared. Not so much sad.

At funerals, I’m the weirdo making inappropriate jokes because I don’t like to see other people sad and I figure any smile is a good smile? Or I’m just awkward as ass and my verbal filter is on back-order.

When my kids were born? I teared up, but no tears fell. And those were happy tears, so. But still. No crying.

Maybe it’s because I brought it into focus, but ever since we had that conversation, it takes basically nothing to turn me into a sniveling idiot.

I have a friend, and every time we’ve talked on the phone, maybe three or four times in the last year, I have cried. And each time, I swear I’m not a crier. (Note: My friend is not making me cry, heh. Poor bastard though, I assume he thinks that…)

I can think of half a dozen or more times in the last few months I’ve burst into sobby fits and then tried to explain to stunned bystanders that I am, in fact, not prone to crying.

The time has come to admit defeat: I’m totally a crier.

Oh god. I just now realized this is the most Chandler I have ever been. *kicks copy of Chicken Soup for the Soul under the backless couch*

I don’t know what shifted. I do know that I’d make a point not to cry when I was younger because of the bullshit idea it makes women seem debilitated by feels and therefore incapable of being a successful human. That was a real threat. I never wanted to be seen as less than competent, and I ran with the back to the wall, death laser eyes when I was out in the world.

I realized the transition was complete a good year ago, but refused to admit it. The turning point for me was when I watched David Tennant’s regeneration episode of Doctor Who and completely lost my shit. I mean lost. Gone. Wow.

If you watch DW, know I never cried before. Not even when he burned up a star to say goodbye.

But there we sat in bed, hubs and I, watching the show, and he justĀ really didn’t want to go you guys.

I have never sobbed so hard in my life. And I’m not joking here. I was hysterical. I couldn’t even talk to explain my breakdown to the husband other than ugly-crying out a few words like, “He…alone…I…hug me…THE FUCKING OOOOOOOOOOD!”

I am actually tearing up JUST WRITING ABOUT THIS. THE HELL.

About a week later I watched a video of a dog seeing his person, a soldier who had been gone for like two years, and the goddamn dog cried. THE DOG CRIED. I stumbled away from the computer and sobbed about the beauty of this dog and his feelings.

My husband lives in genuine terror of the random things that will turn me into a drooping messĀ of BUT SERIOUSLY THE DOG CRIED. JESUS.

Now I will cry at anything. When he burns up the star. When one of my kids does something cute. When one of the critters is being extra loving. When I hear a pretty song. For shows or movies I’ve already seen. (“WHY AM I SAD I KNEW THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN GOD WHERE ARE THE TISSUESSSSSSSS!?” When there is a sappy commercial. When someone gives me a pie. (That actually happened. Sobbed right in the face of a friend who made me a pie in a room full of people. In real life.)

I cannot even handle the feelings I had when Groot…I can’t, you guys. I just cannot.

So, I’m a crier now. And I think I’m okay with that. I’d like to be seen as calm and collected and with my shit together, but who am I even kidding there? If you’ve met me, there is nothing calm and or collected about me. I’m a mess of feelings. Happy. Angry. Excited. SQUEE. (Squee is totally a feeling.)

I don’t see why I refused to let sad have some play. Sad is the most feared of all emotions, even more than rage. Sad means something has hurt us, something has wounded us so I can see why we’d want to stomp it away, turn it to ash, freeze it out of our hearts.

But there are a lot of beautiful things that come from sad. Sure, happy and some of the others feel a lot better, but it’s not sad’s fault it gets the feelsy end of the emotional stick. Really, wonderful things come from sad. I’m becoming okay with the sad.

It’s hard for me to embrace the sad, but I’m working on it. I want to say it doesn’t mean I’m weak, but maybe that’s a lie. But if that’s the reality, I don’t care enough to change it.

Because when I have the cries? When I sob it out like a boss? Oh my damn do I feel better. Like, 33 years of being a robot leeching through my tear ducts better.

So. I’m a crier now.

My apologies if you happen to witness this. I may be accepting of being a crier, but I haven’t yet made my peace with my being a hideous ugly-crier. Seriously. How can skin get that red and puff that much?

I hope you all are having the most fantastic of weeks!

Until next time,

Peace, Love, and *SOB*


  1. I’m a crier now too! I never use to cry at movies or books. But any tiny sad story I’m weeping. Hugs girl. You’re not alone.

  2. I have a chapter titled “The Eyes Have It” in my YA sci-fi novel and I LITERALLY just had it up on my screen before clicking over to my inbox where a new message with your blog post in it was waiting.

    SO FREAKIN’ CREEPTASTIC. But also seriously awesome.

    I did the robot—->real live girl transformation to and even though it’s been several years since I crossed the line, it still throws me for a loop. After nearly three decades of seeing myself a certain way, even DEFINING myself that way, whoo boy, is this ever weird, eh? But good. Definitely good. <3

  3. I relate to this so much, as I am totally a crier. Not for every little thing. Just the powerful stuff that I think even robots would get shiny-eyes over. And I have to tell you– I’m pretty sure I have seen that video of the soldier’s dog crying and it is pretty damn powerful. I can’t imagine someone seeing that and *not* crying.
    I saw Of Mice and Men a week ago (it was the Broadway production with James Franco and Chris O’ Dowd; National Theatre Live screened it for one night and OFCOURSEIWENT) and even though I’ve read the book twice, seen the film and more than enough parodies of the story, I still cried so hard at the end I couldn’t get up to leave. The people I saw it with were like, “You knew how it ended, so why are you crying this hard?” BECAUSE, that’s why. Because. It suckerpunched me right in the feels.

    Anyway, there is nothing wrong with crying. Especially because we’re writers. It’s our job to feel stuff with intensity. So I say you are doing your job very well if you are a proud crier!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.