REFLECTIONS #1: An ode to teary-eyed corporate besties of the world

No matter the context, whether it’s from joy, frustration, or sadness, there is a good chance that I will cry. Wobbly lips, puffy eyes and wet cheeks are my signature look.

I am not proud of this automatic reaction. When it happens, I think of Sue Sylvester and wish I could be just like her.

Just today, I fucked up at work and, in coming clean with my lovely boss, I broke down in big sobs in front of the whole (open space) office. Believe me, I would have rather drunk expired milk than have my first crying fit at the new job.

In the moments of post-event shame, I tried explaining to my boyfriend why I was so upset. It wasn’t the crying itself, I know rationally that it is human to cry. It was that I know that once people find out you are an emotional crier, they start treating you differently.

It happened to me recently, after a driving-lesson-induced cry. In the following sessions, the instructor found kindness in his bitter, iced cold heart. It is a heavy change, it permeates the air in the car and it makes me feel uncomfortable at every strained compliment he gives me.

I would lie if I said that was the worst experience I have had, though.

In my old job too, the one that made me miserable for months, I made the error of crying. The role was stressful, I felt like a fish out of water, and at the first sign of a mistake I didn’t know how to fix, I asked for help and - you guessed it - cried. That day, just like today, I was trying to clean up after myself so as to not cause any further issues. I ended up becoming a fragile broken thing, unfit for the work and too emotional for productivity.

I was working towards a promotion that I never got because I was not paying enough attention and because I “couldn’t handle the stress of agency life”. It was suggested to me that, perhaps, my performance would benefit from taking meds for my anxiety, because the advertising industry is sink or swim and it was okay to accept that maybe I just was not cut for it.  

Let it be known I have nothing against meds, and I do have a mental health condition that I was treating in my own free time. Still, I was offended and hurt that my manager thought she had any say in this.

I did not know, by the end of my journey at that agency, if the promotion never happened because I actually lacked attention to detail or because of my crying issues. In any case, I wasn’t sure I had any right to be upset at my former manager because it was true, I made errors and when I noticed them, I would start crying, feeling disheartened both at lack of skills and at my teary essence.

So, when I started at the new job, I was determined to be strong and tough, never make a mistake and - most importantly- never snottily excuse myself into the toilet. I even hired a career coach, who I semi-successfully worked with for about three months.

But, in truth, when I was picking up the pieces of the day, recounting the story to my partner, I got angry. Why must I not cry? Why must I feel such deep guilt over something I - at the moment – have little control over?

I should clarify a few things:

1)    I know that crying people make people uncomfortable, I am not completely oblivious to the ways of the world.

2)    I am not in a phase of stasis. I am more than willing to change, more than ready to grow into a more emotionally mature adult. I don’t want to come across as utterly defeated against my problem, or proud of it.

That being said, I want to accept it. I am tired of being treated with condescension over my tears. If people are allowed to shake, to sweat, to overspeak when they are anxious, why are my tears so damning?

I am not to be protected, supported maybe, but my crying has never prevented me from actually doing anything. I have faced international moves with wet faces and napkin reserves. I graduated college, got a master's, wrote two insightful dissertations while drying my eyes. I have conquered relationships, ended long but hurtful friendships, faced my biggest fears, all between a sob and the next.

Last week I was watching MasterChef’s auditions. One of the women who tried out for the show was not accepted on the basis that she had cried through her entire cooking trial. The food was good, apparently, but that wasn’t enough. The judges were scared she was not going to be able to handle it. I was heartbroken for her. Throughout the whole thing she kept apologizing, trying to compose herself, failing. She knew, just like me, that the moment her emotions started showing, it was over for her. But I wondered, if she went all the way there to prove herself, surely, she knew if she was ready. Surely, she could be the judge of her own capabilities.

I get it, it’s not easy to know what to do when my voice is breaking, but if I tell you that it is actually okay, why shouldn’t you believe me?

I know, the main argument would be that if I am crying so much, so often, maybe something is wrong. I am not saying that is not, I’m just saying that that won’t stop me from going for the things I want and keep working on myself.

One day, I know I’ll face the world with a neutral heart, but until then I’ll be defending all of us, crying besties of the corporate world.