This is the very definition of drama. So why when people show us their pain, their tears, their rage, do we call them dramatic?
We think their emotions, the most authentic and truest fiber of the fabric of our humanity is “relating to” “a play for theater, radio, or television”
When did we throw our hands up and allow media to take such a stronghold of how we decide to regard the most humane part of our existence?
Please tell me when the moment happened where we no longer saw tears as honest?
Where we became so hardened to belligerent pain and anguish that we began to judge it and call it crazy rather than ask what was the cause of the crack that began this break? Who appointed us judge and jury as what justifies it and when it's obscene?
When our windshields split in two we never balk our astonishment that this was the course of events because we were there to witness the first rock that caused the crack. What if we don't see it? Do we simply believe that the windshield didn't have cause and is just being dramatic if it breaks?
Some will read this and call it dramatic, good.
If you're unwilling to take responsibility for the truths inside of this then I will be so bold to call you part of the problem.
We got here together, and we uphold brokenness as long as we shut down, cast aside, and call pain crazy. Dramatic.
We didn't come into this world a cracked windshield, if we split, let's take an oath to investigate cause and lean in to listen …..and if necessary? I'm not saying a boundary isn't warranted but it would be, for the sake of hope for humanity's best interest, for us to stand on our own two feet long enough to get curious about (and God forbid mildly uncomfortable) each others pain before we label it dramatic and have the body and being so lost on the street carry it homelessly.