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I don’t want to cry.

I don’t want to cry when I see a baby on TV.

I don’t want to cry when friends show love for one another.

I don’t want to cry at weddings.

I don’t want to cry when I read harsh words in support of abortion.

Before I had my son, I never cried. I thought of myself as strong, though it was obviously largely because of the numbness that masks depression.

Ever since the flood of pregnancy and birth hormones, ever since my sweet little boy entered my life, wanting to cry has become a familiar feeling for me. I hold back tears every day, or let them stream down when no one is watching.

I’m sure it’s good for me to release my emotions, but is it so wrong to miss that numbness? It’s embarassing to cry so easily.

When I was in first grade, my teacher had a meeting with my mom and told her I was too sensitive. I cried too easily. And from that day, I did everything I could to train myself not to cry.

But maybe I never should have been chastised for it. Maybe I should have been allowed to cry when I needed to. Maybe forbidding myself from crying in front of others is part of the equation that adds up to depression.

All I know is that I don’t want to cry, but I’m going to give myself permission to do so.