Big Girls Do Cry

Big Girls Do Cry ~Imago healing in real life By Lori A. MacKenzie "Big girls..........don't cry (they don't cry) Big girls........don't cry"........The unmistakable falsetto of Frankie Valli bellowed from the living room turntable as my mom, older sister and I sang and danced while doing Saturday morning chores. Like so many other songs back in the mid-70s, I never payed much mind to the message of this Four Seasons classic. The energizing doo wop sound and the inevitable bond it created from our shared love of all things "Frankie and the Four" were all it was about for me. Any message conveyed in the song's catchy title and frequent refrain were lost on me, at least consciously. I never heard the words "big girls don't cry" uttered directly to me, yet, I did believe them. My dad was a hard worker who held two jobs throughout my childhood. He provided us with all that we needed, which was quite a bit more than he had received as a child. We didn't see him as much as I would've liked. In my early teens, I volunteered to accompany him to his part-time evening convenience store cashier job just so I could spend more time with him. I remember that I always wanted to please my dad. That's not to say that pleasing my mom didn't matter. I guess given the time I spent with her and our closer relationship in general, I felt like I had that covered. I was not always so sure with dad. I was a sensitive child, more so than I even realized at the time. Mom and dad were both level-headed problem-solver types who were either able to communicate and make tough decisions with little to no observable conflict or, they were fabulous at hiding it. They seemed emotionally well matched, enough so that I felt different from both of them in this respect. I learned early on that the expression of strong "negative" feelings, such as anger or sadness, especially in the form of tears, caused my dad a great deal of discomfort. I can recall several instances where some situation brought me to tears when my dad withdrew and/or seemed distressed and annoyed. I truly felt dismissed and rejected. My mom, likely responding to dad's unease, would try to circumvent and attempt to squelch my distress. At times, it felt more for his benefit than mine. The message I got was that it bothered dad when I was upset and that it is better not to be upset. Inside, I was overflowing with emotions that I didn't understand. Still, I determined through these experiences, though mostly outside of my direct awareness, that feeling and expressing difficult emotions was unwise, maybe even bad. Perhaps Frankie was right, big girls don't cry. I got really good at focusing on the positive, often to the neglect of any unfavorable feelings. I was on the fast track to becoming a passive and accommodating people pleaser; a potential human doormat. Some tough blows in my early years of college helped changed that. Those stories are for another time. As a psychology student pursuing a counseling degree, I understood the strong unconscious attraction people have to the qualities of their childhood caretakers, both positive and negative. When Andy and I began getting serious while dating in college, I did find he shared many of my dad's wonderful traits. He was kind, generous, funny, hard-working, humble, sweet, oh, and handsome. Although slow to start, I fell head over heels for my college sweetheart. We married after dating for six years. During our brief three year marriage, the response of my then husband to my tears was painfully reminiscent of those childhood moments. It turns out that my first husband was also a logic-minded problem-solver in addition to being a poor communicator and serious conflict avoider. My tears, often present for reasons I could not put into words, were likely a confusing and unsolvable problem to him. What does the ultimate logic-minded problem-solving passive conflict avoider do when his wife shows a wide range of potent emotions which frequently involve tears, often for no tangible reason? He walks away. Leaving for good and filing for divorce were his final and ultimate conflict avoidance strategies. It turns out he wasn't like my dad after all; at least not in the ways that truly counted. I was devastated. There was no sugar coating this pain. I didn't know what kind of response to expect from my dad. I suppose it crossed my mind that he may not directly respond to it all that much and instead indirectly support me as he had in the past by handing me some money, filling my gas tank or checking the oil in my car. Surely he knew that mom would be ready and available for comfort and support. I arrived at mom and dad's house for a summer weekend visit with wounded and battered heart in tow. I wasn't looking for a miracle, just some Cape Cod ocean air and a little TLC. I was completely unprepared for what happened next. How was I to ever imagine that the emotional needs I had been subconsciously trying to meet through my soon-to-be ex-husband, the efforts for which likely significantly contributed to his abrupt and final departure, the needs I had been seeking to fulfill since I was a young girl, were about to be met by the man I had yearned to have them met by all along. I walked into my childhood home, likely looking ragged from daily sobbing and sleep deprivation, attempting to put on a brave face. Mom gave me a reassuring squeeze, a kiss on the cheek and blurted out her usual "Have you eaten? Are you hungry?" Nodding my head "no" I went over to dad for our customary hug and kiss. He snatched and squeezed me in a way I had never experienced from him before. This surprising gesture immediately weakened my defenses and I crumbled into a well of bitter tears. I could tell he was weeping some as well. A lump in my throat left me speechless for several moments. When I was able to speak, I whispered through the tears, "I'm trying daddy. I'm doing the best that I can" (Even while distraught and immersed in grief, I think that I was still trying to please him). He tearfully responded with a simple "I know" He then hugged me even tighter. I felt an unbelievable validation in the midst of anguish. Years of painful feelings of perceived emotional rejection immediately melted away. It has only been in recent years that I learned how misconstrued the interpretation I had in childhood of my dad's reactions to my tears and other signs of distress were. For all of those years, I was convinced that my negative emotions were a bothersome and annoying nuisance to him. I was sure of it. I was dead wrong. It turns out, as mom recently explained, that when dad appeared annoyed with me, he was actually hurting for me. He was hurting over my hurt. When dad seemed rejecting, he was really feeling helpless. It took one of the biggest hurts of my life, my divorce, for dad to finally show his own hurt, vulnerability and sense of helplessness. One day in more recent years, happily remarried and over 20 years beyond the divorce, I noticed something I had never noticed before. While listening to a Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons collection, "Big Girls Don't Cry" came on and for some reason I paid attention to the lyrics. That's when I heard it, "Shame on you, you told a lie. Big girls do cry" Say what? How did I miss that over all of those years? Even Frankie knows it. It turns out that big girls do cry. And sometimes they can find comfort and love in the arms of their daddy.