I was talking to my therapist this week about tears, and how I’ve only cried once in the past 12 years. Which led her to using dirty words like vulnerable and feelings. I made the mistake of saying that crying is weakness, which, of course, turned into a long, mostly one-sided discussion on how tears are human and to be human is to be vulnerable. As is often the case, I didn’t have a lot to say at the time. It takes a few days of ruminating and processing to be able to articulate my response. So I send her an email at 1:30 in the morning: When I cry over something, it’s a physical manifestation of something I am vulnerable to/about. When I open up and allow myself to be vulnerable, I am displaying my weakness. Once that happens, I am open to being hurt. So no more hurt means not being vulnerable.
And as is so often the case, the epiphany came through my poetry.
My eyes are dry
No you won’t ever see me weep
Break my bones
You’ll never see
My broken spirit
The broken soul
You toyed with
You’ll never see me cry
Never know the hurt
You laid upon my heart
Careless caresses
You never meant
Empty words
That belied the truth
Hard and jaded
No one touches me
In the secret places
of my heart
Descent Rising 