I’m a crier. A big one. And my six-year-old daughter, Josie, knows it well.
She’s witnessed me tear up during thank-you speeches, and I’ve cried multiple times while watching her and her friend sing to strangers at the park. I even broke down at a parade at the Indianapolis Children’s Museum, the day before my father-in-law’s funeral, as we danced with an employee dressed as a dinosaur.
At times, my emotional displays can make Josie uncomfortable. She’s either joked about it or asked me to stop crying in public. It’s awkward for me, too, but it always has been.
Growing up in the ‘80s and ‘90s as a boy who cried often wasn’t easy. I remember my first date vividly. We watched *Angus*, and when a character’s grandfather died, I couldn’t hold back the tears. I hid in the theater bathroom, embarrassed, and didn’t get another date for years. I even sobbed at my brother’s graduation, much to the discomfort of my punk bandmates.
Today, I still struggle with being so openly emotional. I’ve been that guy crying in the airport while writing, creating a bubble of empty seats around me. But despite my self-consciousness, I’m glad Josie sees me cry. Children learn emotional regulation from their parents, and I want her to know it’s okay to express her feelings.
I’ve never seen my dad cry, and I grew up believing it was shameful to cry in front of others. That’s why I often ended up crying in public, feeling ashamed afterward. But I’ve learned that showing vulnerability can be a sign of strength.
Experts agree that crying is beneficial for our mental health. Crying reduces stress and releases endorphins, helping us heal. Still, it’s important to maintain balance, especially around children. They need to know their parents are strong, even when they cry.
I’ve tried to show Josie that strength and vulnerability can coexist. But sometimes, it’s bittersweet. Josie longs for a sibling and often cries about it. After several heartbreaking pregnancy losses, we had to stop trying for another child. When Josie brought up the subject again, we hugged and cried together.
I’m learning that being a strong father means letting her see my tears but also showing her that I’m steady and reliable. Josie is figuring out what emotional expression means for her, and I’m still learning what it means for me.
Recently, Josie’s school asked parents to stop walking their kindergarteners to class. She said she was fine with it, but on the first day, I wasn’t. As I watched her walk confidently through the playground, I ugly-cried behind a storage container. Josie didn’t look back.
It’s moments like these that remind me it’s okay to cry — for both of us. And as Josie continues to grow, she’ll learn that strength comes not just from holding back tears, but from knowing when to let them flow.
