As a political junkie, I watched the Democratic National Convention this week. A lot has happened in the past few months from a disastrous first presidential debate, an attempted assassination attempt on Republican nominee Donald Trump, a chaotic Republican National Convention, and President Biden dropping out of the race in favor of Vice President Kamala Harris. I watched as Democrats gave their speeches in support of Harris and on Wednesday night, her pick for Vice President Tim Walz spoke. In the middle of his speech, Walz gave a shout out to his family after speaking about his and his wife's struggles to start one and cameras cut to his supportive family. A close up of his son, Gus, particularly stood out with tears in his eyes he appeared to say, "That's my dad."
What was clearly a moment of joy and support from Walz's son gained traction as right wing social media (including conservative media pundit Ann Coulter) mocked him for his especially emotional display. They made fun of his tears as signaling male weakness and fodder for online meme culture. This ridicule of Gus felt especially cruel as people pointed out that Gus has a non-verbal learning disorder and the contempt could very well be ableist.
There's so much in this moment to unpack. I think there's a larger conversation to be had about conservatives embracing a particular brand of toxic masculinity that devalues expressions of love, support, and collaboration. Tim Walz himself is a popular subject for writers in talking about how he's an antithesis towards the right's idea of manhood. But for me, Gus' unabashed (and frankly warranted) emotional response hits home for me as notable because it felt bigger than what people are used to. As a neurodivergent person myself, I know what it feels like to have big emotions. And that's what I want to talk about.
Emotions are something of a taboo subject in polite society. While everyone acknowledges that they exist and we all experience them to varying degrees, we're all expected to keep expressing them at bay or muted. There are few areas of life where we are allowed to express them in full - joy at a concert, stress at a sports game, crying at an emotional movie just to name a few. But to let emotions encompass our entire being? That's a hard no, not something you're supposed to do.
To be neurodivergent is to have a tougher time regulating emotions. The way our brains are wired can lead us to experience the various emotions as either extremely mild or all-encompassing. And because of those extremes of emotional display, neurodivergent people are subject to what is know as the "double empathy" theory - people not understanding how our emotional display reflecting what we're feeling and thus less likely to be empathetic towards us. And receiving that lack of empathy can stunt neurodivergent people in feeling like they can’t express themselves at all because no one wants to get us and help us.
I have a lifetime of struggling with my emotions. They often feel bigger than I am and they envelop my entire being to the point where I feel like I can't function normally. When I was a child, I'd feel constant sadness and frustration over my inability to pick up things like other kids and they'd take over into meltdowns. I'd then be pulled aside to be calmed down and chastised for my behavior. No one seemed interested in why I reacted the way I did or what I was feeling - all they cared about was what I did and how I shouldn't do it. The comedown from the meltdown lead to immense shame and anger that the meltdown happened and led me to believe that the feelings that caused it were bad and should be avoided at all costs. That, of course, made me feel bad for ever having them and the toxic cycle would continue whenever I had them. If I had anyone telling me that what I was feeling was normal and I wasn't a bad person for having them I probably would be a better-adjusted person.
I've gotten better about handling my emotions over the years. Therapy can do that to a person. I still feel overwhelmed by them but my outbursts have lessened, my responses are more manageable, and easier to bounce back from. But my personal battle with emotional regulation makes me more empathetic to people who have similar issues. My first social work client similarly struggled with their emotions and I found myself pulling them outside of class to calm them down. Every time I did so, I made it a point to tell them they weren't a bad person and they just simply needed to calm down. It's a message I wish I had growing up and I hope that it stuck with them over a decade later. I relayed that empathy to all the clients I had over the years and I hope that sticks with them too.
I think that we all need to treat people's varied emotional expressions as normal and something to understand and empathize with. It fosters understanding and acceptance of others that makes the world a better place to live in. Gus's tears of joy and pride at the Democratic National Convention was a totally normal and acceptable response to his father expressing love for his family. We need to accept it as such.
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