One of the things I’ve always hated about myself is how easily I burst into tears, and how often I cry.
That’s not to say I’m ashamed of it. It’s my natural reaction to surprise, bad news, overwhelm, discomfort, confusion, and a whole range of other scenarios, situations and feelings. It’s just how I am.
The reason I hate it is not that it shames me, but because it draws others’ attention to me at times when I’m feeling especially vulnerable. And my very dramatic outward displays of emotion make me vulnerable. I am left exposed, demarcated, spotlighted, in a way in which others are not.
I’ve been crying a lot over recent months. I’m cagey about talking too much about the reasons for this on this blog, because while I’m often very candid and open on here, many of those who read my words know me in person, including some people I work with.
Currently I’m contending with huge amounts of change. I’ve lurched from one period of uncertainty to another. This particular dark cloud, while it has evolved and morphed in shape and outline, has been hanging over me for well over eighteen months. Its form has been given greater definition in the past couple of months, but still that form has yet to settle into a state of finality.
I’ve had bad news delivered to me, and many people around me, in very exposing, “public” settings.
I’ve had reassuring structure and routine ripped out from under my feet. I see gaping nothingness in front of me, however much others around me try to reassure me that the unknowns will come to an end at some point.
I’m experiencing a form of bereavement – not over a lost loved one, but over the loss of a particular combination of relationships, things, environments, and a way of being that I’ve loved, and that has made me feel supported, contented and happy for a good few years, even while I’ve contended with many difficulties elsewhere in my life.
Throughout it all, I’ve been told to remain professional, and to “try to use my coping mechanisms” to manage my distress.
But I’ve been unable to prevent myself from crying.
I’ve been unable to prevent myself having meltdowns. At work. At home. In public places.
It’s all too much.
My sense of vulnerability raises my already-pretty-extreme levels of anxiety.
How do others perceive me?
Can I truly be regarded as competent? Professional? Capable? Able? Trustworthy?
The truth is, I can be all these things, and vulnerable. Such qualities are not mutually exclusive.
Since my diagnosis, I’ve always been open about my autism.
My reasoning is that I struggle to be quiet about aspects of truth about myself; and that I simply wouldn’t want to be around anyone who looked negatively upon me as a result of knowing that I’m autistic. It’s a part of me, and by rejecting my autism, anyone who does so rejects me.
But my emotional vulnerability is as much a part of my autism as my sensory sensitivities, my pattern-spotting abilities, my attention to detail, and the deep joy I experience when working on things that interest me.
I am not ashamed of that vulnerability, but I now feel I need to go further than such a state of neutrality; of not-negativity.
I have started to embrace it as a fundamental personal truth.
Sometimes, it means – as someone I know recently put it – that I’m “taking one for the team” in more readily displaying those feelings that others around me feel internally, but are unwilling or unable to convey to the outside world. I’m raising awareness.
My vulnerability is authentic.
My vulnerability is real.
My vulnerability is human.
And – perhaps perversely – my ability to allow myself to be vulnerable makes me strong.
Crying is cathartic. The pressure is released. This can sometimes take hours, but it does go. And when my tears have all been shed, and my wailing and sobbing has quietened, I’m exhausted, spent; but the tension is gone.
I know I’m alive, I’m here, and I can carry on.
Right now, I can’t keep up appearances. I can’t pretend I’m fine. I can’t currently wear the mask of acceptable social interaction very much of the time. I’m having to cope with too much.
And while crying can be useful, and I’ve done the Very Helpful Thing of making others aware of how serious things are, no-one should be repeatedly subjected to So Much Stuff that they dissolve in a puddle of tears on an almost daily basis. It’s tiring. It’s not a modus operandi I’m keen on.
Hence time off work, and limited time online. I’m trying to keep my life as quiet as possible at the moment. I need to rest, recover, and recuperate.
But I’m still here.
I’m authentic, I’m vulnerable, and I’m human.