I will not Cry

Over the past month, I’ve often felt like crying. When I was alone, my thoughts would torment me, and the urge to cry would rise. But for some reason, I couldn’t.

It’s strange—I can easily tear up over a moving story or a fictional scenario. Yet, when it comes to my own pain, I feel frozen. I can’t cry for myself.

When I was in therapy, I’d tear up the moment the therapist asked how I was doing. I never wanted to cry, but the moment someone focused on me, the tears would come. Was I really doing that badly? Did I feel so much pity for myself that I’d break down at the slightest attention?

The truth is, I wasn’t doing worse then than I am now. But I don’t know how to open up about myself. I’m not used to people caring about how I feel or listening to me.

Ever since my sister got sick when I was 7, I stopped being the focus of anyone’s attention. My parents made sure I was alive, but that was the extent of their energy. Understandably, they were consumed with keeping my sister—and themselves—alive. There was no room for me. I wanted to live and explore life, but I didn’t want to burden them with my feelings. My sister would spiral into guilt and self-blame if I even caught a cold, convinced that my suffering was God’s punishment for her being a “bad person.” I couldn’t imagine how she’d react if she knew about my mental struggles.

That dynamic hasn’t changed. Even now, if I mention feeling unwell, I’m told, “Don’t say that too loud—your sister might hear.” Her stability always comes first, and my role is to stay strong, to suppress any “weak” emotions.

In therapy, I’d cry my eyes out while smiling through the tears. What right do I have to feel this way? I was conditioned to bury my emotions, to be “strong”—whatever that means. So I mock my feelings, telling myself they’re unjustified. My sister is entitled to her pain; her life is hard. Compared to her, what do I have to complain about?

Yet, I’m filled with self-doubt. I crave someone to ask how I am, to care. But how can I show that need? Others’ feelings always seem to matter more.

And so, I’m not allowed to cry for myself.