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See a Grown Man Cry

People are making fun of U.S. House Speaker John Boehner because of his penchant for crying. He did it yesterday during Pope Francis’ visit, and today when he announced plans to retire. But I think his public displays of emotion are courageous.

A lot of guys suck at crying. I’m no exception. I’ve always envied men who can do it in public.

Mood music:

I’ve never been the weepy type. To do so, in my mind, meant being weak. Tears meant embarrassment. Tears are for girls, I always told myself. I opted for the stiff upper lip during times of pain and trauma.

To this day I can be an emotionally closed-off person. I probably get it from my father. He was one of the most loving guys I knew, but he always had a tough time showing his emotion. I saw him cry once in the last 45 years: when my brother died.

When my brother died, I pretended to cry. Crying was expected in a situation like that. I made the crying noises. I made myself tremble. But it was an act. I felt the same degree of pain as everyone else over what happened, but the storm swirled deep inside me instead of on the surface.

It was the same when my best friend died. That one hit me like a bullet to the chest and fueled some of my most self-destructive, angry behavior in the years to come. But I never actually cried. That’s probably part of the reason I acted out in those other, uglier ways. The day he died, I remember going to his parents’ house, two doors down from where I grew up. I sat at their dining room table, wide eyed. I was trying to make myself cry. But it didn’t happen.

I have been able to let the tears loose a couple times. Both times, it was because I had done something to hurt my wife. Only she got to see it, though, and I walked around embarrassed for days after.

One year, I was on team for a men’s Cursillo weekend. I won’t tell you what was said there, but when people start exploring their faith and where they have been in life, a lot of sobbing results. I saw a lot of tough guys cry.

Twice that weekend I came close. But it didn’t come.

The idea of it still strikes me as too unmanly.

But I think the inability to cry has helped fuel some of my worst moments as a human being. I took my pain out on other people and I tried very hard to destroy myself.

Luckily, I had people around me who loved me enough to put up with it and, ultimately, give me the help I needed.

So one of the things on my to-do list is learning to let the tears out.

When I have a breakthrough, I’ll let you know.

Or, maybe I won’t.

Meantime, cut Mr. Speaker some slack.

John Boehner Crying

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The Five Colors of the Anxiety Rainbow

I broke free from fear-based anxiety a long time ago. But I still have episodes of anxiety. We all do, and it’s usually when we have trouble sorting through our emotions. To get a better handle on it, I’ve been trying to label the different kinds of anxiousness based on the colors of a rainbow.

I decided to use the first five colors of Newton’s primary color system because if I broke this down by all seven colors, I’d be stretching things. Understand that this isn’t a scientific breakdown; it’s simply how I’ve learned to process what I feel.

  • Red. This is the worst of the worst, the type of anxiety that makes you feel like you’re at death’s door. I used to suffer from this one all the time: a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead, my heart pounding so violently that I thought it would break bones, my feet tingling and a constant feeling of having to throw up. Fear is the trigger for this one, the kind of fear that made me not want to go places, take risks and live life in general. For me, Prozac has been a very effective weapon against red anxiety, as has my faith.
  • Orange. Fear plays a big role in this anxiety as well, but unlike red, orange is usually rooted in something stressful that is really happening in your life. You could be fighting a serious medical issue and worrying about losing the fight. You could be having financial trouble that results in routine stress but the anxiety magnifies it to monstrous proportions. I’ve had both varieties, with the disease taking the form of Crohn’s Disease and excrutiating back pain. Medication has helped here, too, but therapy to sort reality from a runaway imagination was key.
  • Yellow. This anxiety is usually triggered by a lot of sustained stress at work or home. Maybe your marriage has hit a rough patch or your job is riding on the success or failure of a huge project. To get through it, your body pumps more adrenaline than you need, and you get the overwhelmed feeling that keeps you from seeing the order of work items and their level of completion. The news business is a perfect place to experience this because you face daily deadlines and a tongue lashing from your bosses if a competitor gets a big story instead of you. I don’t experience that today, but when I worked for newspapers, this yellow anxiety was always with me. Remedies here include therapy, medicine, a heart-to-heart talk with the boss and, if necessary, a job or even a career change.
  • Green. This anxiety appears when the less-frequent stresses spark up. Yesterday was a perfect example in my world: I was already ramped up from spending the previous evening at the hospital holding vigil while my father faced emergency surgery that ultimately didn’t happen. The plumber was coming to install a new dishwasher, and to pound my mind into submission, I went on a chore spree. Then my cell phone died for good, and I had to spend the afternoon replacing it. The latter two events are problems we’re lucky to have, since the alternative is being too broke to afford these things. But it sent the day on a trajectory I hadn’t anticipated. The only cure for this one right now is to reach the end of the day and go to bed.
  • Blue. This is a small, sustained level of anxiety so slight that you usually don’t see it for what it is. It’s generally a byproduct of depression. In my case, blue anxiety shows itself in the winter, when a lack of daylight sends me into blue moods. Last winter I started taking Wellbutrin to help the Prozac work better when I’m in this state, and it helped. But what helps me the most is activity. Writing helps a lot and, this winter, I’m thinking the guitar my family got me for my birthday will be a lifesaver.

Whatever level of anxiety you have, none of it has to be permanent. You simply have to choose to do something about it and ask those around you to help you stick to whatever you go with. Without Erin and the kids, I’m pretty sure I’d still be hiding under a rock somewhere.

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