Tears are for Manipulation
when you cry for help
When I was a kid I used to cry a lot. I mean, a lot. So much so that everyone started to ignore me and my tears as to say I cried for anything and everything and there was no point in listening to me anymore. If you are reading this and you are a parent, I beg you, listen to your child, even if they cry too much especially if they cry too much. Because there is a reason behind those tears. My reason? I grew up with an abusive brother who has a personality disorder.
“Stop crying so much, there’s no need for that.”
I learned from a very young age that my tears never moved anyone. All I could accomplish by crying was silence, and if I was lucky, maybe their rejection. Crying in my family was never about expressing themself, it was never about feeling sad and just feeling that sadness.
No.
Crying was for the weak, the desperate for attention and to overdramatize, even if I was six years old and couldn’t possibly know how to do that. So if my brother broke my favorite toy to punish me for something I did out of being a kid. I couldn’t cry for that. If he made fun of me in front of all my friends or if he touched me in a way no child should ever be touched. I couldn’t cry for that either. If he treated me as such I was irrelevant. Dumb. Ugly. Screamed at me because I ‘talk too much’. Nope, no crying Julia.
You just want attention.
I had a few situations in which my brother deceived me to take advantage of my innocence. Just so he could get lucky in a situation where I fully trusted him. One comes to mind right now that is a core memory to me.
When we were kids we used to receive an allowance from our parents, he would give me R$5, which would be one dollar, and my brother would get R$10 since he was older, which would be two dollars, give or take. That was all the money I had if I wanted to buy a toy or lipgloss. I’ve always loved make-up. But I decided I wanted to hang out with my brother, I wanted to go out and to the movies, maybe have some ice cream too. So for the next four months that I received my allowance, I didn’t spend not even a penny. Just so I could hang out with him. I was ten years old. It took all my effort and a lot of resilience to save that money. I planned everything, how much it cost the movie tickets, our bus ride, the ice cream, everything plus two. It would be me and my brother having fun!
I invited him and he said yes. Our mom and dad said yes. So the day came and his new friend also said yes. She wasn’t in my plans and I wasn’t going to pay for her. But he asked her anyway, without telling me, might I add. I was upset that he called her but I just wanted that evening so bad, I was so proud of saving money and going to the movie theater without an adult for the very first time. It was exciting! All was going great. We dressed up nicely, went out, and took the bus. Talked excitedly about the movie we were going to watch. He said I would like his friend. Little did I know that it was all over before it even began.
His friend didn’t show up. And we left the mall.
For him, it didn’t matter. All that he cared about was seeing that new girl he was into. He never cared about how hard I had worked to save that money. How happy I was because I wanted to spend time with him. He just didn’t care about me. The bus ticket we used to go to the mall and back, that was two months of my life. All my expectations were crushed. And he didn’t even blink. As we got there, his friend called canceling and we didn’t even cross the mall. He just turned and started walking home, sad. I insisted, begging:
‘Let’s watch the movie please, it’ll be fun’.
But no, there was never space for me.
I went home and I couldn’t even cry or be sad. I just had to swallow a very hard pill. I did not matter. Not for him. Not for my parents who didn’t even blink at my sadness. From that moment on I started to write every cent that he used to “borrow” from me. And then charge back with interest. He started calling me “petty”.
That was only the first time of many where I used to be a chaperone for my brother. He never cared really about what I wanted to do or where I wanted to be. And I loved him. I loved him so much it hurt. It was ridiculous really, I practically worshiped the floor he walked. So I started to accept that it was what I deserved if I wanted to be near him. If I wanted to be loved by him. I had to accept to be neglected. I’m not saying it was all his fault, he had his issues but I had mine too. I could grow to set boundaries, I could love him differently too. But when I was a kid I just had to love my brother.
“Family is all we have, you have to love your brother”
Even if he made me cry. Even if he broke my belongings. Even if he stole from me. Even if he abused me. Even if he bullied me. Even if he humiliated me. Even if he laughed at me. Even if screamed at me. Even if he hated me. Even if he loved me in a way no brother should love his sister.
Today, after years of therapy, I can still hear their voices when I cry.
Attention whore.
Crying to manipulate.
Weak.
Dramatic.
No, I wasn’t any of those things. I was crying for help. I was being abused. I was crying for attention because there was something wrong happening to me. But no one ever listened. These days when I cry, I have learned to listen to my inner child and not to be mean to her. To love her, hold her, and let her cry as much as she likes. Because crying is freeing. Crying is relaxing, it is good and can be happy too. I’ll never again say:
I’ll be strong by stop crying.
Thank you for reading.
