Apologizing for… emotions?

Have you ever noticed…? Pic­ture this: you’re watch­ing the news or whatever, and someone is being inter­viewed. Someone who has… lost a loved one, for instance. Two things hap­pen. These two things are inev­it­able. 1) They start to cry, and 2) what’s the first thing they say when they start to cry? They say, “I’m sorry.” And they try to stop.

I think one of the tra­gedies of our cul­ture is that for some reas­on, we are ashamed to show emo­tion. I mean, hap­pi­ness, sure. We’re allowed to be happy, excited. We’re even allowed to be pissed off, or angry, or frus­trated, dis­gus­ted. But afraid? Sad? Heart­broken? Don’t even think about it. The mes­sages we receive all the time, are that we aren’t sup­posed to feel these things. What is that? Are they thought of as show­ing, I dunno, “weak­ness?” Is that what it is? But why? Why is it weak to be hon­est about what you’re feel­ing? Some­times you’re even accused of being “fake” if you show these emo­tions. But I tell you what, SCREW THAT. I will not apo­lo­gise for feel­ing the way I feel.

Part of it might be the theatre back­ground… as act­ors we learn empathy, we have to study people to study our char­ac­ters, we have to FEEL things in order to por­tray a char­ac­ter in a deep way. And that’s why act­ors tend to be very con­nec­ted to our emo­tions. (Act­ors tend to be some of the most genu­ine people I know). I also think it’s healthy. To express what I’m feel­ing. It is NOT weak to admit that I am sad, or afraid, or heart­broken, or… any­thing. It is HONEST. I don’t want any­one to show hon­est emo­tion, and feel that they have to say, “I’m sorry.” For cry­ing. If some­thing makes me cry, I am damn well going to cry, and be unapo­lo­get­ic about it.

I also think it’s import­ant to be hon­est about what you’re feel­ing so you can be sup­por­ted. Not that you need to broad­cast your every up and down moment, but if some­thing tra­gic has happened, share it with people you’re close to so they can sup­port you. I was close friends with a woman who had a mis­car­riage, and did­n’t tell me. That’s her prerog­at­ive, she is allowed to con­fide or not con­fide in whomever, but later when I found out, I felt hor­rible because I could have been a much more sup­port­ive friend. But I simply did­n’t know. And you know? That’s okay, if she did­n’t need or want my sup­port. But then years later it turned out she blamed me for not sup­port­ing her. (She blamed me for a bunch of stuff that I did­n’t know about. So that’s no good. If you don’t tell some­body, don’t blame them for not knowing).

Any­way that’s a little off track, but my point is this: be hon­est with your­self about what you’re feel­ing, and allow your­self to be hon­est with oth­ers. Cov­id is hard. It’s hard being isol­ated. It’s hard not being able to see all my friends, and all my fam­ily. Christ­mas parties can­celled, the Christ­mas Eve fon­due hap­pen­ing vir­tu­ally, no hug­ging, no clink­ing glasses in our toasts to each oth­er­’s good health… Who would have guessed at the begin­ning of all this, that we would still be in this pos­i­tion at Christ­mas? I don’t mind telling you I have had lots of down days, and often find myself cry­ing. I don’t live in fear of con­tract­ing Cov­id, because of my cir­cum­stances, for which I am very thank­ful. But I fear for oth­er people. A lot of oth­er people. I am really sad that I won’t be see­ing my kids in per­son at Christ­mas. But it’s a sac­ri­fice we are will­ing to make to keep them, and oth­ers safe and healthy. I am sad­der still for people who have lost loved ones. I am sad for people who are isol­ated and don’t have the abil­ity to con­nect with friends or fam­ily, even vir­tu­ally. I think that must be the hard­est thing of all.
I don’t know you all per­son­ally, I don’t know of your situ­ations, I assume they are dif­fer­ent from my own. And I am send­ing good vibes out to you all, for health, hap­pi­ness, love and light, and vir­tu­al arms around you filled with warmth.