“I can’t educate or love or present you something completely, however I’ll allow you to see me, and I’ll all the time maintain sacred the present of seeing you—actually, deeply, seeing you.” ~Brené Brown
The primary time my youngsters noticed me actually cry was Christmas of 2021. My oldest was sixteen, and my youngest was twelve.
That they had simply opened their presents. It ought to have been a heat, joyful morning. As an alternative, I turned away towards the lobby close to the entry of the home, my again to them, as tears threatened to spill over. My mother—whose emotional chaos had disrupted a big a part of my life—was in a psychiatric hospital once more. Her psychological well being had unraveled as soon as extra, and the grief of all of it, the repetition, the helplessness, lastly caught up with me.
I had spent years attempting to maintain my ache out of sight. I believed I may cover it once more. However this time, I couldn’t.
Each of my youngsters requested, “Are you okay?”
I whispered, “I’m wonderful,” even because the tears streamed down.
Then one thing sudden occurred. They each got here towards me and wrapped me in a hug. No concern. No confusion. Simply love. Pure and regular.
That second started to unravel one thing in me. What met me was tenderness. My youngsters weren’t overwhelmed by my disappointment. They merely responded to it. In that second, one thing previous started to crack: the assumption that my ache was harmful to the folks I beloved most.
I had spent so lengthy attempting to not turn out to be like my mother. I all the time felt accountable for her emotions and well-being, and I by no means wished my very own youngsters to really feel burdened the best way I had. However in attempting so onerous to not repeat the previous, I held my emotional inside very guarded after I was unhappy.
I believed I used to be defending them.
What I didn’t perceive then was that my youngsters didn’t want safety from my humanity. They wanted some connection to it.
In late 2023, my youthful baby made an remark that confirmed me my hiding wasn’t actually working.
“You’re the unhappy one,” he stated, “and Dad is the mad one.”
The reality stung, however I knew he wasn’t being merciless. He was merely saying what he noticed.
And he wasn’t mistaken.
After that Christmas, I had gone again to holding every part in and attempting to not let an excessive amount of of my disappointment present. However even with out tears, my son had nonetheless been seeing my disappointment for years—by way of what was taking place with my mother, by way of losses I had carried quietly, by way of burdens I believed I used to be conserving to myself.
After all he sensed it. Possibly it was in my demeanor or my vitality, within the heaviness on my face, in the best way I typically stared off blankly, or within the moments when he needed to name my identify a number of occasions earlier than I got here again. He usually requested, “Are you okay, Mommy?” He knew one thing was there.
That was the second I noticed there was no level in hiding my internal world if my youngsters may already really feel it with out phrases.
Children are extremely intuitive. Even after they don’t have the language, they will really feel what is occurring. They decide up on stress, disappointment, distance, and pressure lengthy earlier than anybody explains it. After we fake every part is ok, they nonetheless really feel that one thing is off.
What I started to know is that with out context, they had been left to make which means out of what they felt. They might assume my disappointment had one thing to do with them, or that it was one thing they wanted to repair.
However after I started giving them sufficient fact—with out trauma dumping, with out making them carry what was mine—they had been higher in a position to not personalize what they had been sensing. They might perceive that I had emotions, that these emotions had been actual and human, and that these emotions weren’t their fault.
I additionally started to see one thing else extra clearly: my youngsters had all the time seen me as robust, unbiased, and succesful, the one who managed issues and dealt with what wanted to be dealt with. As a result of I didn’t allow them to see what I perceived as weak, I by no means actually gave them the possibility to know this too: I’ve emotions. My emotions matter too. Not simply theirs.
As I started sharing extra of my inside world in age-appropriate methods, my youngsters turned extra considerate and thoughtful. Not as a result of they had been accountable for me, however as a result of they may perceive me extra totally.
What hit me hardest was realizing that the very factor I had felt as a toddler—being unseen—was one thing I used to be repeating with my very own youngsters with out even understanding it. Not in the identical kind, however in an analogous emotional sample.
How may they actually see me if I by no means allow them to know something about what was taking place inside me? How may we’ve got true connection if I solely allow them to relate to my energy, competence, and composure whereas hiding the deeper components of my internal world?
By 2026, one thing had begun to vary, however not shortly and never by chance. It got here after years of remedy, reflection, and slowly studying how usually I nonetheless suppressed what I felt—pushing it down, swallowing onerous, going into my bed room to cover it, attempting to regain composure earlier than anybody noticed. Little by little, I finished doing that as a lot. I cried extra freely. I let extra be seen.
My youngest son, who’s autistic and deeply bonded to me, at first didn’t know what to do after I started letting my tears present extra usually. A couple of months in the past, whereas I used to be crying, he stated, “I wish to make you’re feeling higher, however I don’t know the way.”
I instructed him, “You don’t have to repair something. Simply let me be me, and I’ll allow you to be you. That’s the very best present we may give one another.”
After that, I sensed his awkwardness start to melt into acceptance.
Slightly later, as we had been touchdown in Houston after a visit to Canada, tears began falling once more. I didn’t wish to come again. That place not seems like residence to me. With out saying a phrase, my son wrapped his arms round me and held me whereas I cried.
After a couple of minutes, I exhaled and stated, “Thanks. I really feel higher now.”
However it was the second within the automobile that stayed with me most.
A few month later, I was crying once more whereas we had been driving. A track got here on the radio that jogged my memory of somebody I missed, and the disappointment rose up quick. He was sitting subsequent to me, and I stated, “I’m okay, honey. The track simply jogs my memory of somebody and makes me unhappy. I simply must get it out, after which I’ll be okay.”
Even then, I nonetheless felt self-conscious. Some a part of me nonetheless fearful he is likely to be judging me.
As an alternative, he stated one thing that utterly surprised me.
“I want I may cry like that,” he stated. “You’re robust.”
I laughed a bit of and stated, “I get it, honey. We’ll get you crying once more ultimately.”
I meant it tenderly, however I additionally realized in that second that he had discovered among the identical classes so many boys be taught early—that tears get pushed down, that emotions get caught, that crying turns into one thing to withstand. And I knew he had discovered a few of that from what each his dad and I had modeled. It could take time to unlearn.
That second stayed with me as a result of it confirmed me how in a different way he was seeing my tears than I had all the time seen them myself.
For a lot of my life, I had equated crying with weak spot. I believed being robust meant holding every part in, staying composed, pushing by way of, and conserving the onerous components hidden. However by way of my son’s eyes, I noticed one thing completely different. He didn’t see my tears as failure. He noticed braveness in them.
That second opened up one other dialog between us. He instructed me he couldn’t cry anymore. He stated it all the time felt caught in his throat. He may really feel it, however it might not come out. He instructed me the final time he had actually cried was when he was 13.
I believed then about how a lot vitality so many people spend attempting to not really feel what’s already there.
For years, I believed being a very good mother or father meant being unshakable. I believed energy meant conserving my youngsters from seeing my grief, my overwhelm, my tenderness, and my breaking factors.
Now I believe youngsters want honesty greater than efficiency. They should know that arduous emotions might be felt with out changing into harmful, that disappointment can transfer by way of a room with out changing into their duty, and that love doesn’t disappear when life will get onerous.
I used to assume my tears would make my youngsters really feel much less secure.
What I do know now’s that when these tears are held with honesty and care, they will educate one thing highly effective: that being totally human isn’t weak spot, and connection usually deepens the second we cease pretending we’ve got nothing to really feel.
About Allison Briggs
Allison Jeanette Briggs is a therapist, author, and speaker specializing in serving to girls heal from codependency, childhood trauma, and emotional neglect. She blends psychological perception with religious depth to information shoppers and readers towards self-trust, boundaries, and genuine connection. Allison is the writer of the upcoming memoir On Being Actual: Therapeutic the Codependent Coronary heart of a Girl and shares reflections on therapeutic, resilience, and internal freedom at on-being-real.com.