The only time I remember being taught about emotions in youth group was when they were related to hormones.  I never remember being taught how to handle the ‘darker’ emotions.  Years of being in church didn’t teach me how to interpret them.  There were no Bible studies about coping mechanisms when living in dysfunction.

But as it turned out, books had been providing me the answers all along.

*****

The wire book display stood, spinning, as I turned it, looking for new books to read.  Small paperbacks leaned forward, hoping to be the ones chosen.  Island of the Blue Dolphins.  Summer of my German Soldier.  Too Young To Die.

It was library time in 6th grade.  The sun beat down through the long, tall windows onto the wood floor, and the room smelled of old books.  I had suddenly discovered a new author, Lurlene McDaniel.  If you were a teenage girl in the 90s, you might remember her.  She made crying cool.

A reader since 3, books were my life.  I read whatever I could get my hands on, looking for any escape I could find, any distraction from my life. And with the discovery of this new author, whose books centered on death, I suddenly had an outlet for emotions I didn’t know needed out.

I was new to this private school, and definitely an outsider.  I dreaded going to school, but I dreaded being home even more.  It is only now, 11 years after leaving, that I am able to say that my home life was emotionally abusive.

Living such a volatile life, I had learned to shut myself down.  I denied the dark emotions that were labeled bad.  I was overwhelmed, over-stimulated, and codependent.

But these books gave me something tangible to cry about.  They were an outlet for my frustration without making me feel bad about myself.  When cancer, car accidents or heart transplants were the reason for my tears, it made sense.  I wasn’t thinking about my life or my misery, and yet my body gained relief from the stress.  But at the time, I thought I just liked to cry.

At some point that year, I began silently sobbing myself to sleep almost every night.

And it wasn’t until late into the 1st year of my marriage, 9 years later, that I realized I had somehow stopped.  My body recognized that I was finally in a safe place.

For so many years I had been forced to retreat, hide, and silence myself in order to save myself.  I didn’t know I was broken. I didn’t know I was being broken, being formed in unhealthy ways, being trained to smother who I was for another.  I didn’t know how wrong it all was.

But my body knew.  Oh, my body knew.  My emotions spoke to me.  I just couldn’t hear them.  I couldn’t recognize my tears were their pleas for help.

I just thought I liked to cry.

I don’t know if I was more shaped by my environment, or if my personality was sewn in at creation.  But for better or worse, emotions are a large part of my reality.  I feel deeply.

“Emotions are the language of the soul.  They are the cry that gives the heart a voice.  To understand our deepest passions and convictions, we must learn to listen to the cry of the soul.” – Dan Allender

Years of emotional abuse shaped my soul, and my feelings were trying to tell me it wasn’t healthy.

Eventually I found myself crying at even the most innocent of authors, Janette Oke.  I recognized some level of goodness, unconditional love and acceptability that I didn’t have, and there were tears.

I didn’t know how to handle my life, so I survived it by escaping into books as much as possible.  My church-going, two-parent, three-child family looked safe, but it was only an illusion.  I grew up hurting, and the only indicator I had that anything was wrong were my tears.

My feelings.

Those pesky things that I just spent a whole Bible study being taught to deny.

I’ve spent most of my life hiding the deepest, truest parts of me.  By insisting that emotions must be liars, because one verse says the heart is deceitful, my experience with church continues to be another voice telling me to hide.

I grew up in brokenness and although my mind wasn’t aware of it, my body was.  I can see that the tears I shed, signaling ALLTHE FEELINGS, were more reliable than anything tangible in my life.

I no longer cry myself to sleep, but I still find comfort in a sad story.  I no longer read Lurlene McDaniel books, but, as my husband jokes, if a movie kills off one of the main characters, chances are I’ll like it.  And, while I’d like to point out that I do enjoy movies where everyone lives, Up Close and Personal is one of my favorites.

Redeeming some of the pain in my life has meant recognizing the strength that lies beneath.  I can’t separate my feelings from who I am any more than I can remove all of the E’s from a book and have it still make sense.  Oftentimes my emotions reveal deep knowledge that my mind hasn’t yet recognized.

They speak to me.

I just need to listen.