Why Are We Shamed For Crying Over The Little Things? Or, The Despicable Art Of Being Strong

Warning ⚠️: This article contains lots of rhetorical questions and only a few answers. Enjoy ❤️. Olatorera Dickson-Amusa One of the high-key toxic traits continuously passed down to the majority of us, generation to generation, is the art of being strong.

By this, I mean normalizing the suppression of any feelings deemed too big, too small, or too alarming.

We are taught to harden our buttocks when flogged in schools (non-Nigerians might not relate). Laughed at for flinching or crying out while receiving injections, and told to grow up when we stumbled and bruised knees and elbows.

As a result, we feel ashamed when little things get to us. We are appalled to feel the sting of tears behind our eyes when someone yells at us. Or that time when a friend said something you didn't expect and it hurt your feelings. We are disgusted subconsciously, when we see a person give way to their emotions in public. Why should they shout like that? Why cry? After all, it's not the end of the world.

We have been indoctrinated to believe that only large losses count. To believe that only broken bones, ghastly accidents, the loss of loved ones, huge fire outbreaks, terrorist attacks, are worthy of our precious tears and displays of sorrow.

What happens to the little every day losses? Are we not concerned about where they go? Human beings are not bottomless pits. Neither are we sieves, with substances going in one end, and pouring out the other way. That works for food and water, but not for emotions.

Emotions build and build. And when they have become so clogged up that they cannot even be expressed anymore, they become toxic. Think of it as a constipated stomach. Only this time, it's expensive therapy as a solution instead of a sachet of Andrews liver's salt.

Recently my dog died. His name was Max, and he was an absolute sweetheart. Max had been sick for a few days, but we honestly did not think he was going to die. The scary part of dying, was how brief yet final the end was. You see, Max had a few hiccups with his health. He wasn't exactly sick, but he had allergies and my brothers and I often joked that he was “quarter-to”. By this we meant that he would soon die, but we didn't mean it. We really didn't. We loved Max. When he died, we all reacted differently. The emotions were raw, and we expressed them. One of my brothers raged and cried openly, but the other did not shed a tear. He simply refused to move away from Max's body, and kept moving it in an effort to keep it comfortable. As for me, I cried and cried. And this is the part that triggered me to write this. My parents were sad too, but they acted stoic. Worse still, they spoke of our pain as though it were something vaguely embarrassing. I heard phrases like, “you're supposed to be an adult”. Or, “be logical”.

Sadness is not logical. There is nothing logical about being unhappy; there are only emotions. Emotions matter too. Why should they be treated as secondary? A thing of weakness? Why are we shamed for grieving over little things? Why are we told, you are bigger than this? Act your age. It begins when we are little, and we are scolded for crying over a broken toy, or a torn notebook.

I met a lady, in a gathering of youths. She was soft, and by that I mean vulnerable. She laughed when she was happy, and cried when she was sad. That's rare. We are taught to save our emotions for “worthwhile” events. Like scream during a proposal or a wedding, and weep during a funeral. Extremes. Where's the room for the every day wins and losses?

This lady stands out in my memory, because of her genuine grief over the loss of her grandparent, and people's reactions. I remember that there were about six or seven of us youths seated, working on one thing or another. She got a message, and she just broke down crying. Of course, we all rushed to her.

The conversation went something like this: Several persons: What's the matter!? Are you okay?? What's wrong... Etc. Lady: I...I just got told that my grandma died. There was a sudden silence, and then someone hissed loudly(pursing the lips and sucking air through the teeth. It's an African thing to show contempt, anger).

And then the dreaded words; “ I even thought it was something serious”.

I mean, what?? Why was she shamed for crying over old people? Did her grief lose validity because they were going to die sooner or later anyway? Did the fact that her grandma had lived a full life automatically disqualify her from being mourned? I stood up for her. I told the contempt-filled, repressed people that her sorrow was valid, big or small. I let her know that it is okay to cry, and brave to feel.

When my prize plant died and I cried. I was told it was irrational, and I could easily get another one. The adult thing to do, seems to be to repress the little sadnesses, and save our outpours for really big sorrows. I'm not going to be like that, though. When my crush moved abroad, I cried because I would miss staring at him in church. And that's okay. When I don't get as much engagement as I want, I cry. When I'm simply overwhelmed, I cry. When I miss my grandma who died years ago. You get the drift. Feel your feelings, and teach your children that emotional outbursts are not dirty or disgusting.

Love and light.