Growing up, I was never much of a cryer. Be it because of societal pressures on boys to be masculinely stoic or because I imitated my dad who was only either overjoyed or neutral (granted, these are not mutually exclusive), my emotions were very much tempered. In my best recollection, I can remember two distinct moments of crying from the ages 10-18: coming home from school in 8th grade finding my yearbook vandalized with homophobic slurs, and one incredibly emotional late night in the 10th grade when my mom pulled me out from a deep, dark sadness. Both ultimately formed my character more than I could have ever realized in the long run (but that's for another day).
Fast forward to college...Read More