Aversion to Outward Signs of Hurting

Since my last post about what gets on my nerves as a traveler, I have gotten a bunch of emails from friends and not-so-much-friends calling me out on the carpet about a lot of things that they dislike about Americans. While I didn't intend to create a culture war here, there are some pretty legitimate gripes that were brought up in these emails that are worth addressing. But the one that struck me, in various forms, again and again, was this:

"You may think other cultures are over-emotive, but many cultures think that Americans are unhealthy in their near complete aversion to outward signs of hurting or trauma. There are some things you just can't paste a smile on."

Wow.

How true is THAT statement, right? (The writer was from Hungary, BTW).

Americans ARE culturally predisposed to act happy and completely in control of their emotions no matter what might be going on around them or inside of them. This is pretty much true.

Sure, we have Oprah and Dr. Phil and even the lovely Ellen DeGeneres to talk us through these things. We have affirmations, and yoga retreats, and support groups, and a near constant onslaught of advertisements for some drug or another that will take away the pain/depression/compulsion/sadness.

Many (if not a lot) of us are in therapy. Many (if not most) of us are on some kind of anti-depressant or rely on alcohol or another narcotic to provide something similar. Most (if not many) of us spend a decent time on the Internet trying to figure out what is wrong with us. Or, if we're not quite there yet, trying to diagnose a "friend" who seems to have something wrong that might be similar to our own. Or, if we're not even close to there yet, spending inordinate amounts of time paying attention to the outside of our bodies (hey, how about working out for two hours a day, seven days a week...look how healthy I am!!) while ignoring the inside. Or we put it completely outside of ourselves; i.e. God has a plan. (And this is fine, I am all about God but I still don't think this approach is particularly healthy either).

However, none (if not any) of us feel that we can completely and totally lose our shit outwardly for an hour/day/week/month because we are experiencing some serious emotional trauma. THAT is an absolute no-no reserved only for "crazy" or "unstable" people.

I know this well because I have personally wanted to lose my shit outwardly for the better part of a month over two very difficult personal situations.

And I have. But only with "safe" people. Only with the people that I know will not judge me for losing my shit. I am lucky to have these sort of people in my life. I am afraid not all (or enough) of us do.

Anyone else? Business as usual in my world!

I smile, I go to work, I go to the gym, I go to yoga, I go shopping for stuff I really don't need because the art of acquiring things distracts me from what's going on inside.

But I also drink too much wine, download self-help books to my Kindle that I don't ever seem to have the energy to read, and I sleep. A LOT.

When other people can't see me, of course. Or at least not the majority of them.

Outward signs of hurting? Not too many. Most Americans are much more comfortable if you just act "normal." Overly emotional behavior does indeed make us very uncomfortable. Me too, truth be told.

I was talking to a good friend the other night (one of the ones who knows I am screwed up right now but still seems to be dedicated to sticking by me) and he said, "I just don't know what to do when someone cries in front of me. Women, kids, other men...I just don't know how to react."

I pointed out to him that he had been listening to me lose my shit for the past two weeks and was holding up like a champ.

"But...it's YOU," was his response.

Fair enough. I also don't know what to do most of the time when someone is emotionally in turmoil. Particularly if I don't have a close relationship with that person.

I long ago learned that telling someone to "smile" or that "everything is going to be fine in the end" are two of the very worst things you can say to someone in an emotional crisis or mired in depression.

No one, unless you are someone who manages to walk around high all the time, wants to smile when their world is falling apart. No one. I don't care what Oprah and Dr. Phil have to say about this matter...you do not want to smile when you feel miserable. A writer I admire very much, Augusten Burroughs, said this on the topic, "Asking someone to smile or to do affirmations or try to look at the bright side when they are in the midst of a crisis is like sprinkling baby powder on the turd your dog just left you in the living room. It's still shit underneath"  Exactly. Case closed.

And of course we know it will be some semblance of "fine" in the end. But what's YOUR definition of "fine?"    My definition of "fine" does not cover certain, if not most, things. I am not going to tell someone who has lost dozens of friends and comrades in a war that he/she will be "fine." I am not going to tell someone who has just discovered that her child has cancer that he/she will be "fine." And I am certainly not going to tell someone who is going through a catastrophic breakup of a marriage, the death of a loved one, the loss of a pet, multiple amputations...that they are going to be "fine."

These things, and many others, put a major dent in your soul and change you as a human being. Fundamentally.

I (and no one else, for that matter) has any business telling you that you are going to be "fine." THAT is up to you to decide, not me.

Ditto with the "God has a plan" crowd. Again, not in anyway against religion or spirituality here but that one gets me too.

I damn well hope God/the Universe/Whatever has a plan. Someone must because, right now, I don't.

So until God tells me, exactly, what His or Her plan is, and how it concerns my present hell, I don't need to hear about it from you.

This all came home to me last week when I was in the most unusual of places.

I was at a food truck in Washington, DC.

It was a particularly hard day and I was trying not to give into an urge to cry. I managed to distract myself most of the day with work and then my shields just crumbled when I got outside. I was tired. Tired of trying to hold it together. Tired of being "fine."

When I got up to the window of this particular food truck that I frequent every week because I love the owner (he is an much older Spanish guy and ALWAYS emotive) and the food is fantastic.

I placed my order and he looked at me and said, "You look like you're about to cry. Why don't you? You'll feel better, bella."

Then he gave me a free lemonade.

He called me beautiful AND gave me a free lemonade. And he didn't once tell me that I should smile, that I would be fine, or that God had a plan for me.

And, you know what? That made me feel better than almost anything else had that week.

Go figure.

 (p.s. And thank you, Anika from Hungary, for making me write this blog. Point deserved and well taken)