The Crying Game

I know all there is to know about the crying game. For me, it’s not just a song but a way of life. I am a crier. There, I’ve said it. I admit it. When it comes to blubbering I am just a big old… girl.

It all started when I was born. The first thing I did was cry and I’ve been bawling ever since. When I whack my head really hard on the corner of the kitchen cabinet, a habit that I’m told I’ve inherited through the maternal line - proven by the giant holes both my mother and grandmother have in their craniums from whacking their heads on kitchen cabinets - I cry. When I am angry I cry. When I am sad I cry. When I am tired I cry. Sometimes when I’m happy I cry.

Although I’ve learned how to harness my emotions somewhat over the years, I still have a long way to go, and I give myself a really hard time about it. Let’s face it. When you cry, you lose credibility, especially in an argument or in the work place. It shouldn’t be that way. When men get emotional they tend to get angry and put their fist through a wall. For some reason this is considered strong, stoic, and acceptable if not ideal. Women cry, and that is considered weak. Despite the increased numbers of women in the workplace this opinion has not changed. In fact, women have convinced themselves that it's correct.

At one of my first jobs in New York City everybody cried, but it was sort of okay because we were all women and gay men. As long as you didn’t cry in front of the boss and held it in till you were locked safely in a bathroom stall, it was cool. Since I was the human resources department, Who Is Crying In the Bathroom was often part of the receptionist’s daily report. “You have three interviews today. Invoices are due by Friday. Shelly is crying in the bathroom again.” Sometimes I’d go in and try to cheer them up, and usually ended up crying right along with them. You’d think we were curing cancer, as stressful as that job was, instead of planning parties and representing over-indulged celebrities.

When I saw the movie My Dog Skip I howled until my eyes were red and my face was covered in snot. There wasn’t enough Kleenex in the world to accommodate that sob-fest. I mean, the dog was lying there on the bed, just waiting for the kid to come home from college, and then he – he – he

Oh God, here I go again.

I’ve always admired those seemingly tough, in-control women who rarely cry. Their boyfriend could call them a fat-ass and they’d just look coldly at him while I’d be digging through the knife drawer for the sharpest one to slit my wrists. Luckily my eyes would be no more than swollen slits from crying so I’d miss the knife drawer entirely and be digging through harmless spatulas.

Since leaving New York I’ve cried at work a lot less, but last week I regressed a bit. My boss was nasty to me over the phone, and I slammed the receiver down, brimming with righteous rage, and marched down to her office to tell her off as calmly and professionally as possible, so as to make it clear that her behavior would not be tolerated. “The way you spoke to me just now was extremely inappropriate,” I told her. “Moving forward we need to find a better way for you to communicate constructive criticism.”

Doesn’t that sound great? It did to me, too, in my head. But unfortunately my little speech was delivered while my traitorous lip quivered and then, to my horror, the corners of my mouth turned down so far they connected under my chin and I started to cry.

Damn it damn it damn it.

So I’ve been really irritated with myself, especially since this is a new job and I'm still trying to establish boundaries and make a good first impression. But then this morning I read something that made me feel much better: Helen Gurley Brown is a crier, too.

For those of you unfamiliar, HGB is the woman who launched Cosmopolitan Magazine. While I’ve never been a huge fan of “You are Fine the Way You Are” side by side with “How to Catch a Man” articles, there is no disputing that HGB is one hell of a writer and editor, a one-woman powerhouse who inspired and oversees a magazine with a circulation well over one million. And she cries! According to the article I read, she cries all the time! She is a strong, successful woman AND she cries.

Could it be that the two are not mutually exclusive? Can I be a strong woman AND a crier? Just the thought makes me a little sniffly and – and- and… oh boy, here I go again. I'll just be in the bathroom for a - a- a- bit.