Positioned in the storytime of a gruesome reality; my eyes held onto the screen in front of me. My consciousness hugged the heart-wrenching visuals connected to a book I had read only a few weeks ago, Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson. I sat in a duality of anticipation and hopeless sorrow. As the school’s auditorium filled with echoing sniffles, I realized that I wasn’t crying. Bewildered by this awareness; I began to write. My fingers disobeyed my desire to simply sit, watch, and be present. They clacked against my phone in the rhythm set by my emotions; painting the picture of my shame. Why wasn’t I crying? Did I care about what was happening? Was it because I knew the story already?
The words massaging the ears of your heart in the video above were written during this time of questioning.
Through further interrogation of these questions, I came to understand that I was crying. My tears crawled down the cheeks of my heart and met at the pit of my stomach. This method of weeping was not unfamiliar to me, but strange in the moment when the majority of the audience cried differently. Their sniffles and claps weren’t strong enough to reflect what I felt inside so I sat silently and wept inwardly. Later, I remembered when I first experienced the education of the reality shared through Stevenson’s writing. In my private moments where I was left unburdened from having to join the choir of emotions; I sobbed in the turn of every page. Watching the illustrations on screen didn’t change my response but caused me to hide it. I tucked it away because my tears were too loud and my cheers too quiet. My heart was heavy with the understanding that this story didn’t end when the movie credits walked through the screen. My stomach wrenched in the reality of my privilege and the power of my purpose.
You may have moments like mine when life’s tragedies pile into inexpressible emotions and you mistake yourself for being apathetic. Give yourself a break. We live in a world that is both beautiful and terrible. Our current global pandemic illuminates this truth even more. Sometimes mental survival is the simple choice between what you choose to focus on and what you tuck away. It doesn’t mean you stop caring or that the heaviness becomes lighter. It means that you have taken the time to come up for air. Remember that just because the tears don’t fall down your face; doesn’t mean you aren’t weeping.
For those observing in these moments, please be comforted. Empathy and sympathy don’t show up the same for everyone. It’s often the ones most affected that withhold their tears. We are all in this world together, and always have been. Yes, COVID-19 revealed this reality through a global magnifying glass, but the truth is the same. As one race, human, we are connected. Some of us will weep, some of us will strategize, some of us will help, and others of us will wait. We move through these positions as we manage our traumas. Let yourself and your fellow man shift as they feel necessary. Walk with me in kindness and gentleness to self and others. Connect with me in whatever your moment is right now and be comforted in knowing that I respect it.
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