Emotional Authenticity

They used to call me a drama queen.

Sometimes they would say it playfully. Sometimes it was accusatory. Sometimes for their own amusement. And sometimes it was said with genuine concern for my ability to cope with things.

As a result, I’ve grown to resent my emotional nature.

Because the truth is, my reactions to things have never been exaggerated. Overly emotional? Perhaps to some; but never to me. 

Growing up, my reactions were always on par with how I felt in the moment. They were genuine and authentic. They were vulnerable and open.

Do you know what happens when people have negative reactions to your genuine expression of feeling and self, over and over again?

You start to believe them.

Sometimes I’m really mean to myself when I notice that I’m feeling emotional. My inner critic (her name is Candice) says things like, stop being such a baby, you have no reason to be upset, and what is wrong with you?

Let’s go back in time…

It’s summertime in Florida. The days are long and hot. I’m fourteen years old, and I’m making my way toward the kitchen with plans to eat the last mango, which I’d spied on the kitchen counter when I got home.

I had just finished with tennis practice, and after a few long hours burning calories in the midday sun, a big, juicy mango is just what the doctor ordered.

I pass by my little sister who is sitting in the living room adjacent to the kitchen. She’s watching an episode of Rocket Power (or something like that). We don’t pay each other any mind.

I open up a cabinet to grab myself a plate, rifle through a drawer for a knife, and yank several paper towels from the roll. This is going to be messy. 

I sit down at the kitchen island and hold the mango in place over the plate with my left hand. I slice through it with the knife in my right hand. As the meat inside the mango is revealed, I quickly discover that the mango is no good. I won’t be able to eat it.

Disappointment floods my entire body. I can feel it in my head, my throat, and my stomach. It bubbles up out of me and I begin to cry. 

“What’s wrong?” my sister asks.

“My mango is rotten!” I manage through sobs.

She takes a moment to absorb the explanation behind my tears, and then she laughs. “Wait, are you really crying over a mango right now?”

A new wave of sensation floods my entire body. Heat that colors my cheeks and turns my tears sour. I start to cry even more as I make my way toward my room.

For years after that, my sister would say to me, laughing, “remember that time you cried over a mango.” And I would laugh too, as if I agreed that I was being ridiculous. 

Is it really ridiculous to cry over a mango? Is it ridiculous to cry when something makes you sad (especially when you’re also tired and hungry)?

Experiences like this have taught me that being emotional is not okay. People have strong opinions about emotions – when it’s appropriate to have them, and when it’s not. As a result, I’ve learned to shut down my emotions. To hold them in. To all but cut myself off from how I feel.

Now, more often than not, if something makes me emotional, I struggle to communicate about it (or anything else) at all.

Earle and I were in the parking lot at the grocery store on the last day before everything was scheduled to close for the approaching hurricane (Milton). We had just finished with work and needed to get more dog food, just in case.

Earle parked the car, and we both exited the vehicle, physically depleted, stressed and weary.

There were cars and people everywhere, making their last minute grocery stops too. Earle’s mom had just texted us, asking us yet again, to evacuate. She was getting on my last nerve. As I started walking toward the store, Earle said, I need to change my shoes. I stopped in the middle of the parking lot to wait for him, and then noticed cars all around me, trying to back out of spaces, trying to pull into spaces, trying to drive by… A wave of panic washed over me, so I kept moving, and made my way toward the store to wait.

I didn’t speak to Earle until we got home. At the store, he asked me what was wrong. He asked me if we needed anything else. He asked me what had happened. But I could not answer. 

If I were not a suppressed version of myself, I probably would have just cried and explained to him why I was feeling so frustrated. But shutting in my emotions also shuts down my ability to communicate. And the weirdest part is, I also probably wouldn’t have been able to cry, even if I’d tried. Shutting down my emotions isn’t a conscious choice that I make, it is a learned survival response that my body activates against my will.

Because over the years, when people made fun of me for being sensitive, called me a cry baby, or told me that I was overreacting, I believed them. I believed that something was wrong with me. My feelings were always very real, but I was constantly being told that they were wrong. 

So I adapted.

I have been working really hard to undo this. In doing so, I’ve noticed that if I can manage to speak up about how I feel, I can also manage to cry. These two things are intricately linked.

So, when I’m alone, I open the camera on my phone, I talk out my feelings, and I cry. I record myself so that I can watch it back and get comfortable with my own vulnerability.

Sometimes, when I am in safe spaces with safe people whom I know will not judge me (like Earle), I talk out my feelings and I cry with them present. Or if I still don’t quite feel safe enough with someone (basically anyone who isn’t Earle), I give myself time to talk out my feelings and cry alone, until I feel ready to have a conversation about my feelings without crying.

I don’t want to be a suppressed version of myself. No matter how many times I’ve been told that my natural way of being is wrong, it’s still an integral part of who I am, how I express myself, and how I understand myself.

I want to be fully connected to my authenticity. I want to be okay with who I am and how I show up. I don’t want to be ashamed of what feels natural for me. And I’m sharing this note today, because even though I sometimes believe that I’m the only sensitive weirdo out there who cries about rotten mangos, I know it’s probably not true.

Your feelings are valid. And you are allowed to express them. And if you have ever felt shut down by an outside opinion about your internal experience, they were the ones who were wrong. Not you.

Sending love,

PS — I’ve been taking stock of my favorite things (the things that bring me joy), and one of those things is having meaningful conversations about topics that interest me. So, if you ever feel the desire to send me an email response with your own thoughts/experiences related to my ritual posts, I would welcome it!