The official definition of a crybaby is, “a person, especially a child, who sheds tears frequently or readily,” according to Merriam-Webster dictionary.
I’m not a child anymore, (technically) but I do shed tears frequently and readily. Sometimes it’s warranted, like after accidentally arguing against my team during an AP Lang debate, and other times it’s completely uncalled for, like when I hear a really good song on the radio. I wouldn’t say my tears are a product of strictly sadness- any emotion in excess is likely to cause a minor waterfall.
“It’s just my period” or “I’ve had a long day” used to be constant phrases in my vocabulary. The more I age, the clearer it becomes that maybe I’m just a crier. It’s not necessarily a bad thing (though it is sometimes inconvenient) to be more in touch with your emotional side.
I feel that as a self-proclaimed crybaby, I get a richer experience out of life due to my deep emotions. Most movies I watch become more impactful when they’re able to drive me to tears, and marching on the capitol for gun control seemed to be more inspiring as silent tears poured out from under my sunglasses. Not only is it emotionally fulfilling to get a physiological reaction to validate my emotions, but crying is a form of catharsis for me. The physical weight I feel lifted off my shoulders after crying is very real.
I’m a crybaby. Is it always fun and games? No. People will tease me over my constant tears, and judge me for my perceived lack of control over my emotions. Nobody is going to like every part of you. Knowing this, it’s even harder to appreciate the more chaotic or challenging aspects to your personality. But like any other part of my identity, I’ve chosen to embrace it and see the good in it rather than the bad. Though I may go through more tissues in a week than the average bear, I wouldn’t have it any other way.