017. "Mommy, How Come I've Never Seen You Cry?"

A healing conversation I never knew I needed with my 5-year-old

Photo by M. on Unsplash

“Mommy, how come I’ve never seen you cry?”

I was totally caught off guard. Really? Never??

“Maybe you just don’t remember, sweetie. I know I’ve cried in front of you before..”

She insisted. “I’ve never seen any grown up cry before! Do grown ups just not cry?”

I almost snorted. If only you knew your aunt (my sister) could turn on the waterworks in an instant if she were triggered, I thought. But I am also plenty emotional.

Like the one time my daughter chucked a toddler cup of a fresh fruit smoothie I made her across the kitchen floor, splattering it in perfect entropy. I completely lost it and sat down in the puddle of sticky liquid, bawling at having to solo parent a burgeoning opinionated toddler for a third weekend in a row in the middle of the height of the pandemic. (I’m a working parent too.)

She was 18 months old then and I remember she walked up to me and stared at me crying on the floor, unable to comprehend what I was doing or show any remorse for her actions, and then walking away nonplussed. Obviously, I couldn’t expect her to get it. It wasn’t really about her, as I’d come to learn, but I had a full-blown meltdown in front of her. She’d definitely seen me cry, but maybe it hadn’t happened again recently enough to recall.

I suddenly remembered proof I could bring up.

“Of course they cry! Grown ups definitely cry. In fact, don’t you remember in mommy and daddy’s wedding video, mommy cries when daddy reads me his vows?” I know she has watched our wedding video more times than I probably have because she loves it so much.

“That’s you crying?” she asked. “But you’re also laughing and happy. Why would you be crying?”

“I was crying happy tears!” I countered. Now I realized this was probably not helping the cause. Was I just confusing her more?

She tried to ask in a different way. “But I still haven’t seen you cry. I really want to.”

“Why? You want to see me sad?” I think I finally had an idea where she was going with this and I was trying to lead her there.

“NO! I’m just…curious… what it’s like when you cry,” she slowly pieced together.

I gave in and described what she needed for her. “Okay, I get it.. You just want to know that it happens and that it’s normal for grown ups to cry—is that it?” She nodded emphatically.

“Well, I can tell you about some times that I’ve cried before. Like, I cried when my dog died. I cried when I lost something I loved. I cried when my grandpa died.” I paused and looked at her before continuing. She seemed to accept these answers. So I kept going, even though I noticed I was sort of holding my breath for this next one.

“I cried a lot when I first became a mommy…”

She looked up quizzically. Do I explain postpartum depression to her right now? I didn’t know if that was appropriate yet, even though I plan to tell her one day. So I changed course.

“Because the first moment I heard your heart beat at the doctor’s when you were still inside of me, I cried knowing that you were real—inside of me. And I was so, so happy.” She smiled and beamed, and I also paused to remember that exact moment when I burst into tears at the infertility doctor’s office, mind blown that I could actually hear a heartbeat at 6 weeks old from this tiny speck on a screen.

“And then I cried a lot after you were born.”

2 months postpartum—struggling to enjoy this.

She looked confused again, so I continued. “I cried at first because I was so happy you were here. You were everything I wanted and more. And then I cried a lot because I was scared..”

“Why were you scared, mommy?”

“Well, I was scared because I didn’t know what I was doing! It was my first time being a mommy! And when you were born, you were a little bit sick and the doctors had to do tests and sometimes poked you with needles to check your blood and how your body was doing. I cried because you cried and it sounded like it hurt, so I felt hurt too. I cried because I didn’t know what your cries meant… I cried because…(gulp) I thought I wasn’t a good enough mommy.”

At this point, she jumped up and rushed into me and wrapped me in a hug. “No! You are! You are a good mommy! You’re my mommy!”

And, well. She asked for it. I started uncontrollably crying, and she pulled back in shock to see me blubbering while unsuccessfully trying to rein back my tears. What wouldn’t I have given to know my baby was saying that to me 5 years ago when I was being swallowed whole by my postpartum depression? That she thought I was a “good mommy” even when I thought I was failing miserably?

I had tied my whole worth to trying to be a “good mother” after she was born, but it felt like I never understood what her cries meant. I had given up breastfeeding to try to preserve my sanity, but instead it only drove me deeper into anxiety and depression and I felt guilty for a long time about failing at it. It had been my husband who woke up with her in the ungodly early morning hours, while I still couldn’t fall asleep in the other room with my insomnia rearing its ugly head. Everything I equated with being a good sacrificial mother, I was not doing.

And yet...all these years later, this validation straight from my daughter’s mouth was like the balm I so badly needed, the antidepressant that didn’t work fast enough to fix me. Even though I no longer believe I wasn’t a good mother back then, the lies of depression felt so much like indisputable truth, once upon a time. I hiccuped as she patted my arm and then gripped me again in a hug, as much as her little arms could hold.

“You’re a good mommy…” she repeated. “You’re my BEST mommy.”

I smiled, sniffled, and hugged her close. “I know that now, sweetie. I just didn’t know it back then.”

“Why didn’t you know before?”

“Well, it’s hard when you do something the first time. If you’ve never done it before, how can you expect to be good at it right away? Especially something as important and big as taking care of a baby! But I got better at doing it the more I did it. Now I’ve had 5 years of practice! …And also, now you’ve seen me cry. Are you happy now?”

She sheepishly giggled, “Yes!” Even she knew how strange that sounded.

“So how did it make you feel now that you have seen me cry?” I pondered.

“Like I want to give you a BIG hug!” she replied, as she snuggled into me.

Oddly enough, I felt like she had healed a part of me that I didn’t know could still be healed.

As she ran out of the room for tablet time while I was about to get dinner ready, I snapped a photo of the remnants of my tears so I could remember this conversation and the emotions later on. And in case she didn’t remember this again.

Not a pretty image, but in case she forgets this!

Isn’t it shocking how our children heal us? And isn’t it so important to remember they really are learning from what they see us do or not do? I truly was not trying to hide my crying around her, and goodness have I cried these last few months with everything that’s been going on in the world. But I guess maybe I subconsciously save it for after she goes to bed, even though I wasn’t doing that intentionally.

I am so hopeful for our children’s generation in showing them that emotions spread across a spectrum and that all of them are valid and serve a purpose.

I grew up thinking that suppressing cries meant you were strong. Now I know that I am human. Humans were created with tears as a form of expression, and my vulnerability is my greatest strength.

So cry in front of your children. Laugh, frown, squeal in delight, show your frustration—talk about it. It seems like they just want to know it’s okay for grown ups to cry too.