I would love to say that I am very open about my emotions towards others. But I can't.

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There are many times when I feel certain emotions but am completely unable to let someone who has part in this know what goes on in my mind. Oftentimes I don't even feel something till after the fact. Sometimes I feel one kind of emotion that later turns into something else. And then there are times when I can't even stop myself from letting everyone know how I feel. This has often caused problems in my life. And it still does.

The way I was raised

My sister's partner once told us: "Your family is very good at talking about absolutely nothing and everything, but when it comes to feelings or emotions, you're at a loss."
And he was right. At family gatherings, we all just blabbed on about the latest news in the family, at work, the neighbours, the dog, the children.

I grew up in a family where the sentences: "Everyone has their own cross to bear," or "this is something we should keep to ourselves, our neighbours don't need to hear this" and "don't let them see you cry," were heard on a regular basis. If I am very honest: it confused the crap out of me. Because it just wasn't me. Sometimes I felt like my cross was the heaviest that had ever been dragged across the room.
At times I wanted to scream so hard that everyone could hear how upset I was and if I wanted to cry - well, it was my damn party.
It didn't take long before I became the emotional black sheep of the family.

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I was the youngest, so it was easy to call me a cry baby. I remember when my sister and I went for a walk and I noticed a snail crossing the road. I wanted to pick it up and set it back down on the side of the road so it wouldn't get killed. My sister laughed at me and forced me to come with her. I shouldn't worry about that stupid snail. Not far behind us, there were people walking. Of course, one of them stepped on the poor snail. I heard it go "crack" and squash beneath the person's shoe...

I made no effort to hide my disgust about what had just happened. Or the anger aimed at my sister for not wanting to stop and making fun of me and those people for not watching where they were going. Nor the sadness for that poor little creature who's life had ended so abruptly when I could have saved it with little effort. And so I cried. I think I must have been about 10 years old, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. My sister has brought up this story a million times too since, reminding me of what an emotional squabble-puss I used to be.

My brother and mother weren't much better. The thing is: they were both alcoholics. One was a hidden social alcoholic, the other was an alcoholic very openly. Both were very good at hiding any emotions that came up. Until they drank one too many, that is. My brother was someone who bottled up any kind of emotion or feeling he had. He never used to be able to talk to girls - only when he drank. And at that point they didn't want to talk to him. For us, it was worse. Everything that had been kept inside would come out with his drink. And I mean everything. It was never pleasant. Needless to say that it was a great day when one day, last year somewhere, I received the news that after many years of daily drinking, he had given it up. And has ever since.

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My mother was an annoying drunk. She would usually start with wine which turned her into a giggling little girl, making jokes that only she found funny. Sometimes, luckily not every time, she would then turn to her favourite drink of choice. The devil in the bottle as I call it: whiskey. And not even good stuff. No - the cheapest crap you could find.
Armed with the devil, she would turn from funny and giddy into a sarcastic monster, criticizing everything and everyone.
Bringing up the past as if it just happened. Over and over again.
When I was younger and had no choice, I would just sit there and let it wash all over me. As a teen, I would walk away. A little later I learned to talk back and actually grab the devil by its horns. I was the only one. No one else ever dared to dance with the devil. Fortunately, she didn't drink whiskey very often. But when she did, no one would be spared.

My father was different. He was an emotional storm-ball of fire and ice. But talk about it? Never.
I think I have the same emotional traits as he had. It was confusing to grow up with a family like that. Don't get me wrong. I didn't have a terrible youth. My parents were strict and sometimes unreasonable. There were ups and downs. But there was also love and warmth. Playing cards and board games on a rainy day. Ice skating on the lake till our feet were frozen to be followed by hot cocoa in front of the TV. Listening to stories about how they grew up. We laughed when they told their funny stories and we witnessed tears when they spoke about old friends they lost. But still, emotions were there to keep to ourselves. Anger wasn't outspoken until it became a raging ball of unspoken irritations. A short sadness was allowed for a family dog that had to be put to sleep. But then it was time to move on.

The effects of bottled up emotions

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Confusing as it was, I learned to confine my emotions as much as possible. To not speak about them. And to suffer in silence. These were the emotions like anger and sadness. As a result, emotions like happiness were felt, but never shared. I wasn't one to jump up and down with joy and excitement when we were going on an outing or when I got a present that I loved. Because of it, I was often stamped as indifferent, arrogant or 'never happy with anything'.
So two different measures were used: if the emotion was a negative one we were supposed to kill it as soon as it came up, but when it was a positive one and didn't show it, it wasn't appreciated. As a result of this, we never really spoke about anything serious, good or bad.

Was it a good way of going through life? I don't think so. Was it bad? No, I don't think so either. It just was. I don't blame them. It was the way they were brought up by their parents and society in their day.

But when I had my own children, I tried to do it differently.

My children and our emotions

As soon as they were old enough to understand, I tried to teach them to feel their emotions, address them, talk about it and let go of whatever it was that bothered them if they could. I always tell them to come to me with anything on their minds, even if they think that what they did is so bad that the world will end. I keep reminding them that I always have their backs, whatever choices they make.

I hope it will get them through life a bit easier than what I experienced throughout my childhood. And then I look at them and see that all four are completely different in how they handle their emotions. I see a bit of my brother in my eldest but at the same time she seems to tell me a lot of what is going on in her life. Sometimes even when I don't necessarily need to hear it.
My youngest daughter is the most outspoken, she'll tell you how it is and I admire that in her.
My eldest son is pretty much content in life, but has his outbursts of frustration. We're working on that.
And my youngest? Well he just hops through life with his heart on his sleeves. Never any worry of hurting anyone's feelings, he just blurts out whatever comes to mind.

And I? Well, I would love to tell you that I have changed much. And in ways I have. I have learned to speak out more.
When I'm angry, people will know. When I'm happy, they will too. When a person is on my radar and butterflies start flying around like monkeys on acid, everyone but the person in question will know about it. He will just have to guess. But when there's something that worries me or makes me sad, I still find myself crying alone and having sleepless nights with worry.
There is still a lot of work to be done.