“Ugh!” Wipes away pesky tears. “I PROMISED myself I wouldn’t cry.”
The line is a constant during award show season—usually when folks are winning a prize that validates their sweat, that honors their soul-bearing, that feels like a long-yearned-for hug from the community they admire so. But they PROMISED THEMSELVES THEY WOULDN’T CRY, Y’ALL, SO THEY ARE FAILING.
Listen, I get it. I know our culture pathologizes emotions1 and whispers to us that tears look weak, anger is ugly, enthusiasm is embarrassingly naive.
I’m just furious about it and letting myself claim all that fire.
‘Cuz you know where else it comes up? FRICKIN’ EVERYWHERE. At funerals and weddings and lower-stakes gatherings, too. I was bundled up around a bonfire with a bunch of cool women last month when a friend invited us to a full moon circle, a chance to talk hopes and dreams for the new year, and release what felt ick from the previous year. The shares were long and lush and messy, as real things are.
But half the women mocked themselves for crying as the tears came.
I hear the heartbreak under our attempts to rein it in, the ways we police ourselves to manage, regulate, modulate, control our animal-body instincts. I hear us scoff, eye-roll, distance ourselves from our correct responses to actual circumstances. And I don’t just mean tears: a big laugh out of nowhere gets an instantaneous vulnerability hangover. We touch anger when we speak about something unfair and we mislabel it personal failing. We ease open a bud of hope and then shut it down with a monotoned, “but I mean it’ll probably never happen.”
And of course this story casts a long shadow. The stoics of ancient Greece.2 The punishment we received when we were too big or loud as kids. The penalty our ancestors paid for acting like a whole person. Of course, of course we feel an obligation to enact again and again the self-flagellation of losing control.
But who else is watching our act? There were two girls who joined that bonfire circle, one 9 years old, one 10. When it was their turns, they spoke of perfectionism and pressure and trying to get better at asking for help. They made all our hearts double as we thought about the girls we were, and the greater obligation we have to the little one within and the little ones without who need to see that messy is okay.
That feelings aren’t liabilities.
That the opposite of fighting our feelings is showing up.
That even tears in public on the biggest stage you’ll ever be on is high mischief. It’s a chance to connect, not protect. To choose love, not fear.
And to lead. To be the better leaders we ache for, right where we are.
A client of mine wrote me recently to say:
“I gave a large leadership keynote last week and it went great, all the typical rah rah. But at one moment, I was making a small tangent remark about how relationships at work really impact mental health, and the loneliness epidemic, and my voice unexpectedly wavered and showed my heartbreak for this. I thought of you, took a deep breath, and said “this really matters, doesn’t it?”
Before meeting you, I would have been so embarrassed at the waver. But now I know it shows the care and that’s the whole point.”
😭😭😭
We know this from the other side, right? When someone betrays (even the word speaks to our cultural drama) emotion, we perk up. We think, ooh something real is happening! The room shifts. We shift—and, not for nothing, we trust the speaker more. We listen better. The person talking is in integrity: their words, their body, their voice are all telling the same story, and we feel it, animal to animal.
Turns out, the best way to make an impact and get a yes and move the room and leave them remembering you for the rest of their life, is also the best way to break shitty cycles of complying with rules that were never meant to serve your spirit or mine:
Care out loud, on purpose. Talk about what matters to you like it matters to you, for the sake of your mission or your art or just your weird, squirrelly joy. In my experience, letting my emotions be feels like expanding into the size I actually am. If you’ve got any psychological safety at all—if you have any power or privilege or position and are wondering how to spend it—this is a pretty damn juicy experiment.
To try: Next time you have the chance to speak about anything you care about, notice if emotions are coming up as you talk and then LET THEM. Let them move3. Breathe. Even deeper. Trust that your emotions are right on time. And that big feelings are part of your message, not a distraction from it.
Words + emotion = the whole unit of communication.
The permission we spread when we believe that! The story we change.
For our kids, our mentees, ourselves, our friends around the bonfire. For every watchful eye, quietly wondering if their whole person is welcome here.
👉🏼 If you want to see what this feels like in practice, our next community Q&A is March 8th at 10am PT. I’m not afraid of my feelings or yours, my love. Upgrade to join ❤️
The animal in me sees the animal in you.
Rarr,
Samara
PS. Are you noticing you’ve got a story of emotions = bad? Wanna share so we all recognize it together and start to release its grip? It would be a gift to the community.
PPS. If you’re a man, this post might feel really womany—but we both know you’ve got your own stuff around emotions in public, that’s hard to navigate and valid AF.
As bell hooks put it:
“The first act of violence that patriarchy demands of males is not violence toward women. Instead patriarchy demands of all males that they engage in acts of psychic self-mutilation, that they kill off the emotional parts of themselves. If an individual is not successful in emotionally crippling himself, he can count on patriarchal men to enact rituals of power that will assault his self-esteem.”
As my client said, this really matters, doesn’t it? I see you.
Some favorite books on the subject: Rage Becomes Her, Good and Mad, Cassandra Speaks, Permission to Feel, and of course everything by Brené. Also wrote a whole chapter in my book called Emotions, where I explore our cultural story and what to do about it, plus the EXTREMELY AWESOME distinction between EMOTIONS and FEELINGS. Which I have not heard enough people talk about!
Please comment below if you have any favorite books on emotions and how to love them!!
The way we use “stoic” today to mean “showing no emotion” is actually a misreading of those old dudes, who had some pretty cool things to say about living the good life.
OK this is SO delicious: the Latin word that “emotion” derives from is emotere—which literally means ENERGY IN MOTION.
Can we think of our emotions as energy in motion???!!!
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to HOW TO SHOW UP with Samara Bay to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.