What I Lost When I Stopped Crying
When my tears disappeared, so did any possibility of an honest emotional life.
There was no pivotal moment when I stopped crying. I can’t remember any traumatic incident in which I wept openly, was gruesomely mocked, and swore off tears. Yet by my early 20s, as surely as if I had cauterized my tear ducts, I hadn’t wept in years.
If I wrote this about any other crucial biological process, such as pooping or sneezing, that statement would be remarkable; at the very least you’d suggest that I consult a doctor. But not crying is oddly normative—no matter how much it hurts us when we stop.
Life begins with tears. And though few likely desire sobbing with infantlike frequency, daily weeping is far nearer to our natural state. Growing up, I cried often. A number of these episodes were brought on by bumps and scrapes, but
