Hopeful hypothesis: that there is an inversely proportionate relationship between years and tears

How long does it take to excrete 40 years worth of pent up tears? Until recently, I’d always found crying to be a thoroughly exhausting business, as if I was running an emotional marathon. Ever since my body has been flooded with oestrogen though, I’ve found it to be utterly cathartic, as if I was visiting a posh day spa specialising in emotions. Slightly less comforting for me, though, was the discovery that I’m now quite the noisy crier when I do it properly. Still … as they say, better out than in. I do sometimes wonder though, whether it’s really necessary to experience catharsis quite so frequently, but I guess 40 years worth of pent up tears is rather a lot, and they do all need to be eliminated one at a time.

Two years into my transition, I’m now well aware of the cognitive dissonance that in the past I’ve generally always been much sadder, but on the whole unable to cry properly, and yet these days I cry at the drop of a hat, even though I’m so very much happier. Proper tears do demand a pre-requisite of honesty, but it feels more than that to me. Perhaps it’s been too difficult for me to cry properly while I was busy pretending to everybody, including myself, that I was someone I’m not. The maintenance of such a ruse must have required the consumption of massive stores of emotional energy, stores that were then made unavailable for other more authentic purposes.

So what brought on today’s waterworks? Watching for at least the tenth time in twelve months this poignant rooftop declaration by Marlo Mack about her new daughter. I cry properly every single time I watch it.