Don’t Be a Stranger | Cry It Out

Hey, stranger.

This is going to be a bit of a downer, so if you’re feeling particularly happy and sunshiney while you’re starting to read this, I’d suggest that you click off and come back another time. I’ll see you then.

Within the last month, four of my close friends’ childhood pets have passed on, including mine. It has been a very jarring phenomenon and one of the most depressing domino effects I’ve ever witnessed.

My childhood cat passed away last week. This is something that so many people go through — almost every person you meet has likely lost a beloved pet. These animals are entwined in our lives in such a significant way, swirled into every memory so deeply, that it truly feels like losing a friend when it’s their time to go.

My cat was thirteen years old, absolutely beautiful — even if you’re not a cat person, you would still think she was cute — and the sweetest, gentlest thing. Every childhood memory I have, she is a part of. She had been with me since I was seven years old, and the process of adjusting to a life without her and accepting a world without her in it is arduous.

Losing her when I’m many miles and bridges away from home and in the middle of classes has been especially difficult. People I know got to spend their pets’ last few moments with them, and I wasn’t able to have that. I couldn’t help but feel guilty for it, but as time goes on, I become more grateful that neither of us had to see each other suffer.

I know it’s going to be painful when I go home for Thanksgiving for her to not be there — not curled up on the couch, not drinking water from a glass, not jumping onto my desk and stepping all over my keyboard.

My mom told me that the day before she died, my cat dragged herself up the stairs to hide in my room. My room used to be her spot all the years that we grew up together, but she hadn’t been up there in years — she was too frail to climb. However, she garnered the strength to curl up under my desk. This, unsurprisingly, brought a whole new wave of tears out of me.

I spent days crying, blinking at the ceiling during my classes, sniffling on my walks home, tears dripping into my food. Loss can only be measured in love. My grief is nothing if not a testament to the love I had for her. It’s been over a week now, and it’s still very painful, but now I can think of her and smile instead of crying. 

When I wasn’t crying, I made sure that I was with my friends. They cooked me dinner and we all sat in the living room and talked about our old pets and our favorite special memories with them. This healed a part of me that wouldn’t have healed without them — having people to lean on during the heavy bouts in your life is so much more significant than we realize. I’ve been surrounding myself with people who make me laugh, who listen, who distract me and pull me back to the present. That is irreplaceable — your people will never judge you for how much you need to cry. 

All of this to say — dedicate time to crying it out. 

It doesn’t matter if you’re crying because of grief or because of any other thing that upsets you. Cry over your bad day, cry over putting your shoes on the wrong feet, cry over what or who you’ve lost. Crying for three days straight was what helped me process my grief.

There is a stigma in our society around being emotional. Even children are mocked for showing emotion. “Crybaby,” one child exclaims to another. Emotion, the most human thing in existence, is commonly viewed as negative and something to be pushed down far enough to make your chest hurt. Don’t adhere to those views. Cry it out. Cry until it doesn’t even feel possible anymore. We are human beings with emotions, and emotions are not something to be repressed.

It does not make you stronger to not feel your feelings. There is no prize.

Whatever it is that you’re working through or processing, I hope you can immerse yourself in your feelings. Allow yourself to completely feel all of it, and hug your friends and pets.