I've never cried more than I've cried this year

I never used to be a crier.

I don’t remember crying a lot as a kid, although I probably did. It’s what kids do.

I remember when I was little I was punished for letting our dog out the front door, a Great Dane who took off down the road and beat up our neighbor’s elderly dog. I remember my father basically holding me up by my arm and smacking my bottom. Hard. I remember because it had never happened before. It hurt, of course, but it was also bewildering because the dog getting out wasn’t my fault. My friend had accidentally left the door open. Those were the hot tears of pain and being unfairly accused. I even pissed myself it was all such a system overload. For obvious reasons, that’s the kind of crying memory that’s going to stick.

I remember being alternately low-key and dramatically sad sometimes when I was a teenager and in my early twenties, but you know how being a teenager and in your early twenties is. Occasionally low-key sad and occasionally dramatically sad, sandwiched in between all the awesome shit like discovering sex, secret smoking, having few responsibilities, and believing you’ll live forever.

About that last part: I remember crying the most when one of my friends died in a horrific car accident our senior year of high school. It was the kind of bottomless crying that randomly transitions into punchiness because your brain isn’t fully formed yet. You wake up crying, you go to bed crying, you drink coffee with other teenagers and beers with other teenagers and go to viewing hours and a funeral and skip school because seriously who fucking cares about anything anymore, what’s the point, and you get in trouble because of that and you cry. But you also sometimes laugh in between the crying bouts, even at his funeral, and it feels really, really bad.

But that’s just about the only crying I remember. Of course there had to be more. I guess these just stand out as the results of something concrete or big happening. Or life phases that felt neatly defined. Hormones, you know. Uncertainty, you know.

Once I had kids, though, I just started crying all the time. It wasn’t from depression, to be clear. I think motherhood had just unlocked a new level of things to cry over. It was the crying over my good fortune and tender awareness of how things could go wrong. It was the crying of frustration, exhaustion, of losing myself. And it was the crying of growth and time and loss and love continuously swapping places.

I thought that sort of crying would end with my kids growing up, but I now suspect that crying over growth and time and loss and love will never be truly done.

This extraordinarily long wind-up brings me to this year. It’s been a year that’s been unprecedented in both the range and reasons for crying. I have never cried more in my life and that is not even remotely an exaggeration. It’s an achievement, really, especially when you consider absolutely none of the crying had to do with Big Legit Life Reasons like death or illness, getting fired or divorced. It didn’t have to do with physical pain or any important relationships in my life falling apart.

This crying was all within me. I’ve cried about leaving. I’ve cried about arriving. I’ve cried from stress most often. I’ve cried over arguing with a friend and I’ve cried over not knowing how I’d pay my kid’s college tuition. I’ve cried from shame, from loneliness, from feeling so fucking lost. I even cried live in today’s episode of NO COUNTRY FOR OLD WOMEN if you can believe it (I both can and cannot, it’s so on the nose.) My point is, I’ve cried a lot since January. And while this year can basically go kick rocks, my crying is starting to come from a more clear place now. A better place, I think. I don’t know how else to describe it.

This brings me to crying at the airport this past Sunday. But first, a bit of foreshadowing:

I first saw this back in January, right before I left Vermont. I remember laughing and thinking yes, this sounds right, even though I hadn’t lived here in twenty-three years and honestly couldn’t tell you if I had cried in public when I lived here the first time. Anyway, my daughter also sent this to me with the message, is this true and I said I just know it is.

Share

Since arriving in Portland, I have actually cried in public several times, but thankfully it’s been when I’ve been with other people. So it’s looked less like I’m having a mental breakdown and more like people are constantly breaking up with me.

I’ve cried less in the last month, which makes me think I’m coming out of it a bit. Spring helps, sun helps, flowers help. Visitors help enormously, of course.

I started doing the boring but essential things necessary to take care of myself. Needless to say, it is so annoying when that works. I returned to my Bikram practice after 5 years. AND IT WORKED. I started feeding myself better, or feeding myself at all. ANNOYING. ALSO WORKED. I finally started writing for myself again, thanks to the incredibly self-serving writing hours that are part of the Creative Pro membership Jenn Romolini and I launched for the podcast. AND GUESS WHAT. THAT IS WORKING, TOO.

But this past Saturday I experienced what I will now refer to as my 2026 Super Bowl of Crying. I cried in three different locations. Actually, by the end of the day it was four. And I found out for myself that Portland is absolutely the best place to cry in public and it’s not even close.