An interesting question posed this week, in a room full of professional colleagues, as we were asked to reflect upon these words, “When was the last time you cried in front of someone else?” And then we were asked to share that answer with others.

It’s a question that clearly triggers a lot for people, what makes you so emotional that you shed tears, how comfortable you are sharing your emotions, even what crying means to you.

I thought long and hard about that question. I am very quick to get tears in my eyes. I share a story of one of the elders I work with and my eyes fill. I listen to difficult situations that others share and, again, my eyes are wet. In truth, my eyes well up at Hallmark commercials.

But, for all of that, I could not truly come up with very many times I have cried in front of others. If my emotions are that strong, I take myself to a private space and express them alone. I don’t want a hug or support, I know it will break me. Instead I want solitude to cry, to scream, to grieve, to feel pain.

One of the most vivid memories that came to mind was the day that my brother died in a sudden, senseless accident. It was late afternoon or early evening on a Saturday. My husband and I were in the kitchen, cleaning up after a holiday cookie baking marathon and my youngest son and his friend were in the office off the family room, shoulder to shoulder at the computer. The phone rang and I answered it. My sister-in-law asked me if I was alone. I said that I was not and then she told me, in one short sentence, that my brother was dead. I remember holding the phone and sliding down the cabinets until I was sitting on the floor. I couldn’t ask any questions, I couldn’t think. I think I told her that we would be there as quickly as we could and I may have even handed my husband the phone. All I know is that, when the phone was out of my hand, I walked to the powder room off the kitchen, closed the door and sat down on the floor. It was there that the disbelief, shock and grief were allowed to spill down my face, there where I allowed myself the rawness of the pain.

I’ve thought about that question in the days since it was posed, wondering about the roots of my chosen behavior and wondering about the impact it has had on my life. I think it comes from a place of self protection, feeling that expressing deep emotions makes me vulnerable in ways I don’t want to be, have never wanted to be. I also think that there are those who see me as stronger than I am and, in truth, I am okay with that as well. One of the most insensitive things that was ever said to me was this comment, after my brother died. “It’s a good thing that you are the one left. You are the strong one.” I am strong, that I know, but I also know that I keep that which is most personal for me in a hidden place, behind a wall that holds me safe. The tears are there, they are always there but they are mine alone. Understanding who we are, how we react and how we express ourselves—all important understandings, without judgement, as we continue to fill our full hearts.