I used to think crying in public meant you were falling apart. It turns out, it just means you ran out of “I’m fine” excuses for the day.

“It’s fine. Everything is fine, and it is always fine.” That’s what I mutter to myself at my lowest points. I try to be unemotional, calm, and put together, but sometimes a bad day seems to break you. Sometimes, holding something in for so long tends to come out one way or another.

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My Experience

For some reason, whenever I think about this topic, this is the first memory that comes to mind. When I used to go to a Bilingual school, being one of the kids whose first language was English in a school full of kids whose first language was Spanish, and using English only when needed was more difficult than you would think.

That’s not to give the wrong impression because most of the kids were nice, lovely, and polite, as were the teachers, especially all those Spanish teachers who patiently taught me from kindergarten to fourth grade.

In fifth grade, however, I wasn’t that fortunate. I had a teacher, let’s call him Mr. Colorful Notes, because he never truly seemed to care about anything else.

He didn’t like me very much from the beginning of the first year. From the start, he didn’t like me.

He was the kind of teacher who sent students to the office for the most minor things and rarely gave them the benefit of the doubt. While we switched between English and Spanish classrooms, I often heard the teachers gossip about which kids behaved and which didn’t. If you hadn’t behaved, they’d pull you to the side and speak to you quietly other times if you hadn’t behaved, Mr.

Colorful Notes would call you out in front of everyone. “Go to the back of the line,” he’d say, only to make an example of you. Embarrassing, isn’t it?

I wasn’t a bad kid in fact I was often quiet and only asked questions to teachers when it was desperately needed. That wasn’t to say I was perfect, but every once in a while, for things like talking too much, usually with this girl, whom we will call for her privacy, Sophia. I noticed he always seemed to be punishing me rather than Sophia, who he let go into the classroom after a few words.

Moreover, he didn’t like that my parents wouldn’t let him not help me in Spanish, which I had accommodations for. I asked him what the directions were, explicitly asking for a specific test we did in English, which he allowed other students to do. Rather than help me without looking me in the eye, they dismissed me and said, “You speak and read English, no? Then I don't have to help you.” That sentence always sticks with me.

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You get the type of teacher he was. Dictados were his favorite way of doing tests, most likely because the non-native speakers always failed them. A dictado is when a teacher reads a paragraph out loud, and you write it down exactly as you hear it to practice listening, spelling, and grammar.

In other words, a nightmare for someone like me. Whenever I asked for my accommodations to be slowed down, he only ever seemed to go faster.

This time, I felt confident with my trusty number two pencil. I had been studying all week. However, when he said the words, they seemed to come so fast out of his mouth that I could barely write everything.

Everyone was talking about how easy it was while he posted the answers. I couldn’t believe my eyes because I had gotten 16 wrong, but little things like adding an s, confusing an e with an i, or tildes.

Sixteen.

The worst part was to come when you had to tell him about how many you got wrong, but since it was supposed to be quick, you would shout out the answers. When it was my turn, instead of shouting, I simply walked up, which seemed to annoy him, and whispered my answers. He turned to me “I can’t hear you Scarlett did you say SIXTEEN?”

I could feel moments later back in my seat tears streaming down my eyes. I had never cried in his class, but felt so helpless. No matter how hard I worked, there was nothing to show for it. I expected to feel my cheeks blush red with embarrassment, but it felt freeing…

Although there was been plenty of times I have cried in the public mainly due to him I always remember this time because it was first time I didn’t feel weak for crying but brave for holding in it for so long. Last I heard of the teacher is that Mr. Colorful Notes still teaches which breaks my heart for those students who are struggling to learn Spanish when they have him.

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Crying Does NOT Make You Weak

It took me so long to come to this conclusion myself. Being humans means sometimes you just need to cry apart. When I glimpse at someone crying in public whether the bathroom, halls, or in the corner I don’t view that person as weak or a “crybaby” but rather someone who has been strong for too long.

Crying is like a hug from an old friend. You need it every once in a while to get through hard times. I have experienced crying for pressure, stress, overwhelm, or no reason.

I don’t, nor will I ever, feel embarrassed for expressing my feelings, despite what Mr. Colorful Notes wanted me to believe.

Next time, instead of bottling up your emotions, try crying. Cry for your heart out for all I care. I promise you can’t help but feel better.