Tears

I’ve been crying a lot lately.

When I was a teenager I spent a lot time crying also. I spent years learning to control my tears when I was angry, when I was happy, sad, frustrated. Because showing tears was weakness. I firmly believe that crying in front of my boss cost me my summer job one year in college.

But now that I can control it, I don’t care.

I cry because every day for the last three weeks or so I wake up to news of more violence. More black men murdered by police, more innocent lives taken by terrorists — police and civilians alike.

I cried on my way to work every day listening to the coverage of the RNC on NPR.

The hatred, the anger, the divisiveness, it all just makes me so frustrated, sad, and I cry.

I cried watching Michelle Obama’s speech the next day, because I watched a poised, intelligent, incredible women give a speech on how far we’ve come and still show us how far we have to go.

I cried after I saw the Ghostbusters reboot, trying to talk to Boyfriend about why a movie I didn’t think was that great as a kid meant so much to me now. Articulating the elation at seeing sexy, smart, strong women talk science on such a wide reaching platform, being the role models for girls I wish I had had as a young girl. The validation for my career change and path. The excitement, waiting for E to grow up enough to be allowed to see it, to show her that I am not an outlier. I am one of many and she can be whatever the fuck she wants.

I cried for many of the same reasons watching the video this morning that introduced Hillary Clinton’s live video feed last night. Watching the images of the 44 previous presidents shatter as she appeared on screen as the first female nominee for president by a major party. What it means. What it stands for.

I cry for a lot of reasons, but tears are not weakness.

Tears are strength.

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