Libbie the Lobster

To purchase the children's book "Saving Libbie the Lobster" go to

When Did I Stop Crying


This morning my thoughts turned to wondering when I stopped crying. I have not shed a tear for years it seems. What does this mean? I have always believed and my experience shows me that the depth of my sadness is what allows me to know its opposite, joy. Have I ceased feeling anything at all?

As a psychotherapist, I would have diagnosed myself as having a histrionic personality. I was certainly told many times in my childhood that I should become an actress for all of my untiring demonstrations of unbridled emotion. george_romney_-_lady_hamilton_as_circeΒ As I look back over these many years, I know I have felt the depth of emotional pain that could only be seen as complete madness. Raging anger has haunted me too, with nothing inside to control its devastation.

And tears, tears of joy and gratitude, happiness at the smallest things have given me reasons to live. Laughter–loud, boisterous, from the pure magic of comradeship, sprang from me easily.

And then there is love. I think I know what love feels like. I think it is a fundamental part of my being. I feel love when I look into a friend’s eyes and I see love coming back at me but I wonder why. Why do these people love me? What do they see? But, I am still the actress, minus the demonstrative displays of emotion, am I not? Now it seems only glimpses to that joy, tell me I am still alive.

This is beginning to sound quite morose, I know. I am merely pondering my own evolution, seeking to understand myself in a world I alone have designed for my comfort as I suppose most humans do.

I have been reading Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte, which is likely prompting my musings this morning. I was drawn to reread the book by an old memory of having found myself in those pages but recalling not why. Now I know. Wuthering-HeightsΒ It is Catherine Earnshaw. Those so many years ago, Emily Bronte breathed life into her character of Catherine and she could have been writing about me.

Aha! Perhaps this very writing has shown me that my feelings are still alive. My melodramatic personality has just shown itself on this page! Writing things through has a magical effect on the writer don’t you think? Pouring the words out onto the page, has the effect of revealing a knowledge not otherwise known.

Thank you for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts.


Author: Libbie The Lobster

I am a writer and a co-author of the children's book, Saving Libbie the Lobster, with Heather Chalmers. Our story is based on the true adventure of how we rescued a rare yellow lobster from our local supermarket.

8 thoughts on “When Did I Stop Crying

  1. As long as you know how to get rid of sorrow, there’s no need for tears. Not everybody cries through salty drops of water. There are several ways of crying and I believe you have your own.

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    • I didn’t think of it this way, but you make perfect sense. I have learned how to accept and be rid of sadness. Perhaps I have cried all the tears necessary for events and people lost to me now. I will look for how I do cry as you said. It makes sense that it would come out another way. Thanks for helping me see this a different way. 🎭

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      • Maybe I’m wrong πŸ™‚ but it would be unhealthy to swallow grief without letting it out, so I concluded you just evolved πŸ™‚

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        • I do agree. The older I become, the more I see myself move beyond so many things. The mondane, pretty things in life no longer concern me. Living in the moment, aware of the planet earth around me and my place in it, is part of my evolution. Sometimes my awareness of the change, brings a wondering about what it means. I have no idea if this makes sense, but I know what I mean to say. πŸ˜‰πŸ˜ƒ

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          • That’s a good one, it took me a while to switch to the “earth-mode” of living and see things in a different way. But I’m still a crybaby sometimes, although I have to admit that tears are a rarity now in comparison to let’s say 2-3 years ago. πŸ™‚

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  2. One evening several years ago, I sat alone on my couch hugging my dog and realized that I didn’t have feelings for anyone but him because he was the only living being who hadn’t hurt or disappointed me. I was completely shut down and emotionally dead. It was a process that had evolved as a result of years and years of intense stress, discord, and uncertainty. I lost faith in humanity and I lost myself in the process. I stopped crying. I stopped laughing. I stopped feeling. The emotional dam burst for me when I found myself out of a job and disabled because of multiple sclerosis. I was depressed, with nothing to do. That’s when I started writing. I have been a writer all my life, but I saw writing as an indulgence that would lead to nothing, and would interfere with my ‘real life.’ When I began writing again, I began feeling again. Writing has been my way back to normalcy…or, at least as normal as I will ever be. Writing has been an emotional balm for this weary soul.

    Liked by 1 person

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