How To Deal With A Difficult Nalison: a useless instruction manual.

Sometimes I'm afraid of admitting a solution to something for fear that someone will throw it in my face when all I want to do is complain.

I probably complain too much, but sometimes you gotta vent. And I when I want to vent I'm not looking for solutions. I'm not looking for advice, I just want to be acknowledged. I want someone to realize that I'm having a tough time.

I have a lot of nieces, so you won't know who I'm talking about. But recently one of my nieces was worrying about her alarm not going off, not waking up in time, not being ready and she was concerned.

It was obvious to any adult that these were not as life threatening as she thought them. An adult can recognize that she was tired and just needed to go to sleep and everything would be better. Said child was reassured that it was going to be okay. They would wake her up. She wouldn't miss anything. Nothing that awful was going to happen. But she was sure the world was ending.

But you know what? I so relate. I am a little older than my niece. While others might recognize sooner than I what my problem is, I often recognize it too. But I don't want to admit it.

I start feeling sullen and upset and I realize that I didn't eat breakfast, or lunch. I am hangry. Someone else might realize this, but a wise person would not suggest "Hey, Alison, when was the last time you ate something?" because they might get their fingers bitten off.

I was sick for the second half of December until nowish. Still recovering. Been so exhausted and had no energy to do anything. Not moving, not doing anything is a perfect recipe for feeling like utter crap. Physically and emotionally.

A smart person might realize that I need to get out on a walk, or listen to music, or any number of things. A wise person would not suggest this for fear of getting yelled at.

So, if a Nalison is being difficult, what IS the proper procedure?

Well, if I told you, you'd probably suggest it to me when I was upset and then I'd be furious at you and then I'd just feel worse for being mad and for snapping at you.

Sometimes I need food, sometimes I need music, sometimes I need walks and dancing, and I always need hugs. I want to feel heard. I want my feelings listened to, not dismissed.


This blog post has probably come across as a whiny self-serving post, and it probably isn't even serving me that well. Cause you know what? When you friend is being a jerk you DO just want to say "Shut up and get over yourself!" When your child is crying over spilled milk, or faulty alarm clocks, you are fairly justified in telling them that they don't get to whine about it. I'm not criticizing the parent who tells their kid to get over something trivial.

I think that my point is that even if you can see that something is trivial, it doesn't feel trivial in the moment, to the child or to the thirty year old woman.

Tracing the tears.

How often do you let tears fall where they will? I always try to stop them, sometimes before they even start, or if I let them fall I try to catch them with a sleeve or a tissue. But when they fall uninhibited, do you notice where they go? They don't drip nicely from your eyes. They slide in interesting patterns. One just slid along my nose, and hit my nostril. Do tears flow up? What's with that?

One tear followed and dripped right across my philtrum to my closed lips. And I can feel the salty tears stinging my chapped lips. I cannot taste the salt because my lips are sealed. But I can feel a few tears pooling on the verge of getting in.

One falls along the curve of my chin, and though it originated in my right eye, it has crossed my entire face and is slipping down the left side of my neck.

Tears do not fall down. They seem to defy gravity, or at least get themselves into fascinating situations if you let them. I am sitting straight, not tilting my head to change the patterns. They fall where they will.

Notice the tears; They create their own paths, like lightening across a sky.

No Agenda

I keep thinking my blog posts have to have an agenda, or cover something, or talk about what's going on in my life. None of those things are wrong, but I created this blog to write. And if I'm worried about filling some specific agenda I don't write.

So today, I am going to write the crap and not care if this post does nothing.

Sometimes I just want nothing.

Life is busy. So many things to do, so I'm avoiding them. Jk. I'm not even. I just paused writing this to send a few more emails and texts and add something to my to-do list. Haha. I can't even avoid anything.

I'm sitting at Starbucks. My eyes are tired. I should probably nap, but if I know me, I won't.

I have to go food shopping. I'm going to visit a friend. I'm going to make dinner. I'm going to chill.

In other news, I think I'm kinda broken. Maybe not, but I've trained myself not to cry for so long that crying when tears press on my eyes feels super weird, but I'm trying to re-train myself and just let the tears come when they push to get out.

So now I cry always. Like way too much. Not about anything either. Pretty music at church? Boom! Tears. Reading TCR? Boom! Tears. Like multiple times. In public!! Thinking about tears? Boom! Tears! Stress in my shoulders creating massive headache inducing stress? Boom! Tears.

All the songs from Wicked are stuck in my head. Not actually, just all the good ones. "Too long I've been afraid of losing love I guess I've lost!"  "And now whatever way our stories end I know you have re-written mine by being my friend!"

Sometimes when I start writing I get on to something and then I write something interesting. This time it's a total random.

Hello world, time to go buy some veggies!

Look Up!

The redness is back. It's dark this time. Not the bright throbbing glow that drew me last time. It's a deep beautiful red. Is it even the same?

The redness is back and it's pulling me again.

I flinch when I see it. It hurt so much last time. It hurt when I drew near and it hurt as I pulled away from it. Is it even the same red?

The fiery glow that pulled me in last time nearly hurt my eyes it was so vibrant with life. This redness is deep and soothing. I'm not sure if it should be described as vibrant or not. It's full. I must describe it as full.

I see it now. There is a golden glow beyond the red. Mingling in a flash of light.

There is a pain in my chest as I look at the redness. Is the pain a memory or a real feeling? It hurt so much last time! My throat begins to feel sore with the memory.

"Stop." I say to myself. I turn away from the red, but it is all around me. There is no turning from it. I look down and my feet are bathed in the darkness. I look up and rather than feeling trapped I feel close and safe as I see the wide expanse above me. Suddenly there is a dark, deep blue with a myriad of stars.

This tightness, and yet this broad expanse. I should feel nervous. I should feel scared, but the tightness in my chest begins to release. I am surrounded all around by a dark, warm red and above there is so much deepness and light.

Hands slightly open, I begin to turn slowly on the spot looking up at the stars. Is there a familiar constellation in the heavens or are these not my stars? There are so many more than on an average night that it is filling in the expanse. I cannot tell if I should know this place or not.

But I do. Something about it is familiar. No, not familiar. I've never seen this before, but I recognize it. There is something about this that feels safe. I am at home here. Overwhelmed, I fall back but instead of thudding to the ground I fall gradually. The transition from standing to lying is one I hardly noticed.

But suddenly I feel cold. The pain should come, should it not? It hurt so much last time. I was sure that I would shatter.

Instead of enjoying my surroundings I was suddenly shivering in fear. Fear of something that might not happen. Indeed, there was a pleasantness in my chest that seemed to be saying "Do not be afraid." But I was sure that the pain would return and I did not trust the feeling. I curled myself up, looking away from the stars. But folded up, with my face pressed into the ground the red still reached through my eyelids, insistent through my avoidance.

There was no pain, only fear. But the fear began to manifest as pain. My eyelids began to hurt. My stomach knotted with worry and my heart started beating too fast.

"Please stop!" I gasped, pushing on the pain in my chest.

"You are creating the pain." I don't know where the voice came from. I knew it was true, but I didn't know how to stop it. I tried to slow my heart beat just by thinking about it. But thinking about it scared me. I felt so cold and though I tried to stop myself from shivering I could feel my teeth chattering.

Slowly I again became aware of how warm and inviting my surroundings were. But I was still afraid.

"Look up." The voice said.

I was afraid. But how much had it hurt last time? Last time. Everything hurt more than words last time. But then there was peace. I knew that. I knew it then and I knew it now, but trust hurt before the initial plunge.

"Get it over with," I told myself. "You're hurting yourself now. You, and you alone are causing this torment. Look up."

"Look up," the voice that was mine repeated.

But as easy as it would have been to turn my head I couldn't. Resolutely I looked inward. Rolled as tightly as I could I was looking in at myself. Trying to protect my feelings. My heart, my lungs.

But I was causing the tightness. I was causing the pain.

"Look up."

In one violent wrench I tore myself out and looked upward. Light was streaming from the sky. The redness around me and the blue above were mingling together in strong waves. Water poured from my eyes as I beheld the striations of light and color. The beads of wet on my eyelashes added another dimension to the light and colors, refracted in my tears.

But I was safe. Again. Just as I had known I would be. I looked about at the mingling colors and down at the purple and white reflecting off my skin and I laughed.

It was relief. I was safe. I had always been safe. I had caused the feelings of fear and anxiety, but the safety had been around me perpetually. I was safe. I had always been safe.

Broken.

It has been an emotional couple of days. I wrote about the burden of joy a few days ago, and then continued on to have a lovely weekend full of friends and good food. Kempton for autumn weekends. Riding an old timey train with some excited and cute niecephews. Lots of fantastic times with friends and family.

Monday was rougher. I heard some hard news about a child I used to babysit. She is one of the cutest children and I spent most of Monday unable to keep myself from crying. My eyes sting today with the pain of yesterday's tears.

I'm supposed to be working on another article but I cannot focus. I love writing and I hate editing. I like the freedom of a blog post for writing about anything. No theme. No thesis, but bumbling thoughts with no plan. I never edit my blog posts, other than occasionally glancing over for typos.

I hate that life has to be hard. One thing going wrong makes me feel a fear in all areas of life. Everything is up in the air and trust goes out the window. I want to say that one bad thing doesn't makes me trust the Lord less, but the feeling on my heart 3 days ago was peace and confidence in Him, and I still trust Him, but I don't feel very peaceful about it. It's not begrudging confidence, it's just not peaceful and happy.

And it makes me fear every possible thing. So, that's not really trust, is it?

I guess I'm ashamed to say that one child being sick makes my trust in the Lord falter. That's not something I care to admit, even just to myself, so here I am, processing my feelings on my blog, and admitting them to you, and figuring this out for myself at the same time.

I don't even want to write it, but today, if I'm really examining the thoughts rattling around in my head, I don't trust the Lord today. I don't hear Him, and I don't think His plan is safe.

Oof! What a thing to admit! What a broken lack of confidence! But writing takes honesty. Examining and recognizing these thoughts is the only way to get back to Him.

And of course, I know that the bad things are NOT His plan, but today I am hating freedom. I am hating that spiritual freedom allows innocent people to be harmed.

And that is not trust. It is doubting His eternal plan. It is doubt. It is fear. It is frustration and pain.

In September I wrote about wishing to trade places with others or wishing I could take their pain away, even if it meant taking it on myself, and I feel the same today.

It's cliche, but all I can think is that it's not fair. It doesn't make sense, and I am done with hell attacking people I love. I want to protect, and I just can't. It's too much. There is no solution.

Before the breakup

Mindless, mind numbing, dumb. "I don't have to be doing this," I said to myself. I could be writing."

But did I want to write? Sometimes mind-numbing and dull are exactly what I want at the end of a long day. So scrolling and scrolling and scrolling. My eyes falling out of their sockets.

"Maybe I should just go to bed," I muttered out loud.

"Don't go to bed," Henry said. I started. I didn't realize he was close enough to hear me. He got up from his chair and came over and kissed my forehead. I didn't even want him to, but I didn't protest.

I ignored his plea that I not go to bed, slammed my laptop shut, and set it down on the table. He took that as an invitation. He plopped down on the couch and tried to snuggle up with me. As he took my hand and kissed my neck a thousand thoughts went through my head.

This is what I wanted. I wanted someone who would want to snuggle with me and hold me and not want to let go of me. I wanted an affectionate and sweet guy. Henry was all of these things. He always reached over and took my hand when we were watching movies. He went out of his way to get me things or do things for me, and he was always ready with a smile and a compliment. I believed that he loved me, but as I sat here, passively receiving his affection I didn't think that I loved him.

Yes, he was so perfect in so many ways. Affectionate and loving to the extreme. Always anxious to make sure that I felt loved and appreciated. But something was missing and I knew it. I didn't want just love. I had always longed for this. Someone who would stroke my hand and make me feel special.

The Beatles "All you need is love" played in my head. "No it's not!" I thought. "You need more than love, stupid Beatles!" I was clearly not in a good mood, and I was surprised that Henry was not picking up on this.

But love is not the answer. It's not even the question. It's only half of it. I liked Henry, a lot. I imagined our life together and could picture us getting married and growing old together. But when I threw kids into the picture things got messy. Not boogers and barf messy, but gritty parenting clashes messy.

Henry was lovely. He would be a loving and wonderful father. I could picture him now, bouncing our imaginary curly haired boy on his knee. But his discipline and upbringing would not be what I wanted for my son.

I couldn't have kids with Henry, because we would never be able to agree on what to teach our children about the way life works. And that mattered too much to me. Henry just wasn't on the same page as me. I wanted to create little people who would grow up to be the most amazing lads and lasses. Who would one day be angels in heaven, but in the meantime would make the world a better place. In short, I wanted a heavenly host. I wanted my little people to be strong and courageous and to wield swords of truth, and be unceasing when it came to standing up for the Truth.

But truth alone would not do. I didn't want my little ones to be monsters or to be cruel. They would have to learn to lean into the truth with strength and conviction, but to do so with love. To nurture and  bend, not brutally break. I believed in my future people, but Henry was not their father.

"Henry?" I said timidly. It had only been a matter of seconds since he had joined me on the couch.

"Mm?" he responded, wrapping his arm around my shoulder, but clearly not really in the mood for talking.

"I'm tired," I said. "You should go home."

He listened and stopped to look at me, disappointment in his eyes.

"Alright," he said getting up and pulling me up from the couch for a good night hug.

I let him. I even let him give me a long goodnight kiss when he leaned in for it.

"Good night," he said, holding on to my hand for a minute longer before he turned toward the door.

"Good night, Henry," I said closing the door behind him. And as I closed the door I started to cry.

A bouquet of emotions

It was one of those days. Emily lay on the floor on her old tan carpet. Was the original color tan? Probably, but it was so faded and old it was hard to tell.

It was one of those days where she felt sluggish and dead and disappointed for no reason. Her heart felt heavy and trod upon, and yet she had this bubbling excitement in her. She just wanted to spring up on to her tippy toes and dance around to loud music, despite it being 11:15 pm. And besides, she was comfortable lying on the floor and not moving. Springing on to tippy toes sounded exhausting, and yet she had a mad desire to pirouette around to get out some of this wild and weird energy.

"What the heck?" Emily muttered. She had a crazy streak. She knew it. But this mad desire to squawk out some loud and unearthly noise was such a weird combination with the desire to lie on the carpet and cry.

This was not a normal combination. Wild and crazy energy with tired disappointment. It didn't make sense. It was like an outfit picked by a toddler.

She was picturing the mismatched attire of a child and started to laugh. The laughter soon turned to tears and she rolled on to her stomach and sobbed into the carpet.

"This shouldn't be happening!" Emily whimpered through the tears. "I'm happy. I'm really happy!" Snot welled in her nose and threatened to drip on to her carpet.

"What does it matter?" she thought. "The carpet is already disgusting!" The tissue box was too far away anyway so she didn't care as the tears soaked the carpet and the snot dripped from her nose.

"I just wanted to be happy and just up and dance! This is pathetic!" She dug her fingernails into the carpet, trying to stop the tears. "Why couldn't the wild and sassy emotions have taken over tonight?" The anger was helpful. Now it wasn't just about being miserable for no reason, she had some anger too!

Wait, the anger was unfounded too. "I'm just a whole bouquet of uncalled for emotions tonight!" she said giving the carpet a solid whack. She remembered that it was nearing midnight and she shouldn't wake her housemates.

The tears were slowing. "Screw this, I'm just going bed!" she said grumpily. She set one hand on the carpet to push herself up but it wasn't there. Her tears had melted the carpet and she was falling in to blackness.

What the blazes?

... right in the middle of a sentence.

I think I like to fight the cliche of beginning a story with "Once upon a time". So I don't know how else to start one except for abruptly.


Wind and sun. Dry heat. I wandered across the bright meadows. It was lovely and unencumbered. Some kind of white flowers dotted the golden field, but my eyes hardly took it in. I followed on toward the redness blazing ahead of me.

It was growing. Or was it shrinking? Frightened, following my impulse, I started running toward it. It wasn't growing. I was just getting closer to it. It was shrinking, but the rate at which I approached it meant that the size didn't change. It gave the illusion that I was running on a treadmill. It seemed too much like I wasn't moving and all of the sudden I became dizzy and had to drop to the ground, breathing heavily. I looked up at the brightness and could now see that it was shrinking away. In a panic I began running again. I couldn't lose it. I had to make it there in time, even though I didn't know what I was running for. I sprinted, gasping for breath as it pulled away from me. I felt the glow of the redness on my skin. I looked down and instead of seeing the expected red, the light reflected as blue on my skin. It was surreal, but I couldn't register the meaning. I had to reach it before it was completely gone.

I reached out my hand. It was just--

"Stop. Don't do it."

I withdrew my hand guiltily. Who had said that? I looked around. About fifteen yards away there was a man. I didn't know his face, but I trusted him. I trusted him, but I still wanted to know why I shouldn't reach for the redness.

"Why not?" I asked.

At this point the redness was not changing in size, but growing in intensity. It made me long to reach for it, but I refrained, waiting for an answer.

"Because you're not supposed to." He wasn't yelling, but it was like his voice was fighting against a strong wind. "Don't reach for it," he warned again.

"But..." I began. Torn between trust and longing. "But... but I want to!" And the intensity of the redness was creating a storm. I felt pulled toward it and at the same time pushed away. It was as if the unknown man and I were pushing toward a wall of wind and shouting to each other to be heard, and yet we weren't shouting and his voice sounded close, and safe, and I believed him.

"Trust me," he said. And he reached his hand toward me. And I felt intense fear and loneliness. I turned toward the red glow. I could feel the warmth. I took a step.

"Please!" he said, and his hand was a gift in the brightness.

"I can't." I apologized. And I took another step toward the glow. And I began to cry.

Maybe he was right. I stopped. I looked at the hand. The kindness he was offering. The love. I thought I should try. One step toward him. And there was gut wrenching pain and I was crippled. I fell to the ground.

It was a sign. I knew that I should have kept toward the glow. My face turned back toward it. The pain receded a little. I crawled a little bit toward the intensifying red.

"Trust me," the man said again. My eyes were burning with tears. I could feel the drips falling whichever way they chose. One hitting the corner of my mouth, one rolling toward my ear, leaving salty trails on my skin. I didn't even want to turn toward the man. It hurt too much.

"I'm going to crawl into the light," I said. Mostly to myself. I didn't care if he heard.

"Trust me," he said a third time. I chanced a look. Such warmth, but my head split.

"Okay," I whispered. And it tore my throat to say it. I reached out my hand and as I did I could feel the ripping in my chest and I wanted to withdraw, but as soon as my hand touched his it was firmly in his grasp and he pulled me away from the glow. I was being pulled toward safety and to him.

You are worth more than many sparrows.

Frustrations abound. For no reason. One little thing sets off another and suddenly a little confusion in today's plans throws the whole future into disarray.

I am worrying about next week and the week after and all the things I have to get done before Christmas. Yes, Christmas. I have had Christmas on my mind all summer. Mostly the Christmas Pageant/Tableaux and all the things I have to do before December even begins. Costumes, casting, and building an entirely new platform/stage.

So, that should not be stressing me out on a random Monday in August but it is. Because I don't know the future and suddenly everything is piling on and I'll never be able to get this stage built before December. Cause once the school year starts everything is moving so fast and everyone's schedules are so busy and then all of the sudden it's December and nothing is ready.

And December isn't close enough to stress about so of course I figured I would start stressing about the rest of my life. And suddenly I'm in tears because I have chosen to look into the future and take all the stress and carry it now.

But tears feel like a betrayal. When I cry because things aren't going according to my plans I'm betraying the Master Planner by saying that His plans aren't working for me. I don't trust Him. I want it my way. So tears feel like a slap in the face to my Creator and His providence.

And this leads back to my earlier posts about expressing feelings and validation.

Is it a slap in God's face to cry? Of course not! So that's not really a valid feeling, and yet I feel it. It's that vicious cycle of knowing that the Lord does want me to cry and cast my burden on Him, but feeling like it's an act of selfish denial of His power. And so I want to be strong, and it feels like strength to stifle the tears and soldier on. But I know, rationally I know, that that is weakness not strength. I must cast my burden on Him and He will sustain me.

Matthew 6
26 Look intently at the birds of the sky; for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, and your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?
27 And which of you by being anxious can add one cubit to his stature?
28 And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they labor not, neither do they spin;
29 but I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as one of these.
30 And if God so clothe the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall He not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?
31 Be not therefore anxious, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, With what shall we be arrayed?
32 For all these things do the nations seek; for your Heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.
33 But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His justice, and all these things shall be added to you.
34 Therefore do not be anxious for tomorrow; for tomorrow shall be anxious for the things of itself. Sufficient for the day is the evil of it.

Are all feelings valid?

Are all feelings valid? I've seen a few articles recently about letting kids feel the feels. And some people have said that they don't think it IS valid for kids to be allowed to express all their emotions. But I think it depends on some definitions.

What does "express" mean?

Express - convey (a thought or feeling) in words or by gestures and conduct.

I guess I believe in freedom of speech, but I also believe in consequences. I don't think children OR adults should just be allowed to scream anything.

So, I guess I'd say that humans should be allowed to FEEL the feelings, but not necessarily allowed to express them. Some gestures, conduct or words are just not appropriate. I think everyone realizes that.

When I think about things that I feel, I KNOW that they're crazy, or even wrong. And that can make it so much worse that I feel them. So I would like people to acknowledge my feelings but not to validate them. Some feelings are not valid, but that doesn't mean I don't feel them.

A very basic example is when I get cold. I remember as a kid my brothers saying things like, "It's not cold. I'm not cold!" and I would look down at my arms covered in goosebumps and think to myself "Um, I didn't choose to feel cold. I'm not doing this on purpose, to annoy you. I cannot change the fact that I feel cold. I don't care what temperature it is, my body is shivering!" but I didn't usually say anything. I would just get angry because I couldn't express to them that I couldn't control my body temperature.

But what about emotions? Can we choose what emotions we feel? Do we have control over them? I'd say that we don't have control over the thoughts and feelings that come into our heads and hearts, but we can control what we do with them once they're there.

Someone once said, "You can't choose what thoughts enter your head, but you can control which ones you invite in for tea." The point being that you are not responsible for the thoughts that come in to your head. If you see someone and your thought is "I wanna kill that person," you don't have to make yourself guilty of that feelings you can immediately be like "Ugh! I don't want to think that!" and kick it out of your head. If you sit there thinking about all the ways to kill that person, then you're culpable. You are inviting the thought in for tea. Meditating on some evil.

So yeah, if someone says "I feel ___." The reaction should never be "No, you don't feel that way." That's not helpful and it's not true. You cannot know what another person is feeling. If they tell you how they are feeling you don't get to contradict them.

People often want to make someone feel better so if I were to say to a friend "I feel useless. I feel like I'm not lovable" and he responded in well-meaning kindness "No! You are very lovable and such a useful person" that might seem like a kind thing to say, but all he has done is invalidate my feelings.

I believe that the appropriate response is "I'm sorry that you are feeling that way. How can I help you?" He doesn't have to agree with me. He doesn't have to say that the feelings are valid, but he should acknowledge that I do in fact feel that way whether or not I should.

If a friend were to say to me "I don't feel love for my husband." I should not respond "Yes you do! Let me remind you why!" I should say "Oh man! I'm so sorry. That sucks. I'm sorry you feel that way! What can I do?" Of course I would want to help her remember why she loves her husband, but I think it's important to acknowledge what the other person is feeling before trying to make it better.

So, with adults you can acknowledge, but not affirm feelings, but can you do the same with children?

If a kid falls down and sees that an adults is watching they oftentimes will burst into tears because they want comfort. So I try not to react strongly to a kid falling down. I usually pick them up and cheerfully say something like "Oops! Are you okay?" Gasping nearly always results in the child wailing. Is that wrong? Is that distracting the kid from expressing their emotions? But if they really are okay, it's not really doing them a service to let them wail. And if they are truly upset or hurt (physically or emotionally) is it then okay to let them cry?

I think so, but sometimes if a kid is upset by something like spilled milk is crying really warranted? I  want to be able to tell my kids that that isn't worth crying over. And maybe if they need to cry that other people don't need to hear it. I guess people should be allowed to cry if they want to, but no one is obligated to feel sorry for them if they do.

Another thing I find myself wondering about is saying "It's okay" to a crying child or baby. I used to think that perhaps that wasn't a fair thing to tell them. "You're okay" "It's okay" sounds like it's brushing off their feelings and not letting them emote. But a few nights ago I was holding a crying baby and found myself rubbing her back and saying "It's okay to cry. It's okay." And realized that I wasn't trying to talk her out of crying, I was trying to reassure her that the crying was okay. "It's okay to feel sad."

Because sometimes you just feel sad, like you just feel cold. I can't change how I feel, but I can always choose what I do about it.

Crying: Is it secret? Is it safe?

Ah ha! Writing the crap was useful. I just want to write all the things. I want to work on my stalled out story, I want to write more blog posts and feel all the feels.

I don't know what I want to write about, but it's through writing that I get inspired to write. I just start rambling about life and sometimes it continues to ramble and sometimes it becomes something.

I am a super supressor. Of tears, of emotions. And I want to let them out. I want to cry for nearly no reason right now. I cried twice in the last two days which is a lot for me, and I want to cry more. It's like writing. Writing inspires more writing, crying inspires more crying.

Does the writing have to mean anything for it to be worth it? Does the crying have to mean anything to be worth it? I want to cry because my shoulder hurts. Not badly. Not the kind of pain that really induces aching tears, but it hurts a fraction and that should be enough to let me cry. Haha.

I've always wondered why crying is so hard for me. As a child I cried a lot. My Daddy let me cry. I never felt suppressed in my childhood. I cried a lot. I think because a) I was an emotional child and the feelings were real and valid and b) I was a manipulative child (like all children?) and used tears to get my way. Thinking back on it, I can't ever remember fake crying (but that certainly doesn't mean I didn't do it) but I think I most often used real sad feelings to get my way.

So, I wasn't stunted as a child. 

Or was I?

I think one of the things that prevents me from crying most often is worrying about what other people will think of me. I don't want people to pity me and I don't want people to worry about me or maybe even care about me. That's strong, but I really don't like manipulating people with my emotions. I want people to care about me because I've logically convinced them that I'm worth caring about. I am always worried that people will agree to things that they don't actually want to.

Setting aside tears, when I ask someone for something or if they want to do something, I am of course afraid of rejection. It's human to fear rejection. But I'm also really afraid that they will say "yes" to something that they wish they could say no to. I live in fear of people agreeing to things they don't want.

So back to tears, I am afraid of other people reacting to my tears. Here I sit, across from another human. If I were to start crying while writing I assume that he would notice, probably even stop what he was doing and ask if I was okay. I don't want him to stop his work to deal with me. But I'd probably feel worse if I sat here crying and he didn't react at all. And so my only option is to sit here, suppressing the tears that want to squish out of my eyes. I can feel them. I don't have any idea what they're doing there or what they mean. My little Inside Out people in my brain didn't tell me why anything should be sad right now. I don't feel sad. I don't feel neglected or anything. I just really like crying. But I also hate it.

And while it might seem ridiculous to hold back the silly unlabeled tears, I honestly FEEL like I will FEEL better if I just hold them in and don't let them disrupt other peoples' lives. And yet, I bet a lot of people would actually feel like their day held more meaning if they comforted a friend.

If I trade places with my friend how would I feel? Would I feel happy to give up on this journal entry to help a friend? Of course I would! So why can't I treat myself the same way?

Do I feel the same way about other emotions? If I were writing something else and started laughing, would I feel disruptive? Would I feel bad? No, I think that it is much easier to ignore a slight laugh than the silent trickling tears. A friend might ask what is funny, but they certainly wouldn't be remiss if they didn't ask. If I couldn't stop laughing then sure, some conversation might ensue. But it is definitely a different type of thing. Partly because I wouldn't mind getting someone out of their mood to laugh with me or to enjoy something fun or funny that I could share.

But I have been in the opposite place of being with friends, laughing and having a good time and then having someone show up in tears and killing the mood. Did I want to comfort this crying man? Not particularly, I did feel jarred into a completely different mood. Was it wrong of him to kill the atmosphere that we had created with laughter and fun? Is it wrong of me to think that perhaps he could have chosen a different way to enter? I know that if I were coming to a party and felt like crying I wouldn't have showed up, or I would have come, pulled aside a friend and asked for some support.

And of course I have been in situations with friends where through conversation or whatever they begin to cry and that doesn't make me feel uncomfortable. I just want to hug them and love them and care for them and I don't feel like I am being manipulated or any such nonsense. 

I don't have the answers. I just know that I am afraid. Far too often I am afraid. Are my feelings valid? Does valid have anything to do with it? Ah yes, I will write another post on whether or not feelings are valid and what I think about that! But for now, I will end this somewhat sad entry and maybe go work on my story.