Don't Say These 5 Things Before Somebody Leaves

Emotional repression might not be a good thing--but emotional continence is something we should all practice.

As a teenager and young woman, I didn't know this. My inability to rein in my emotional life--or even to understand that self-restraint might be desirable-- made my life, and life for those around me, unnecessarily miserable.

I cried a lot. When I say "a lot," I mean that there were weeks when I would, according to my own journals from that time, cry every day. While some of these occasions were in reaction to an event that had already occurred, what disappoints me now is realizing how often I wept and grieved over losses I simply anticipated.

I made every parting a crisis. I made every good-bye a catastrophe.

Part of it was depression. Until I found the right therapist and the right medication, the underlying architecture of deep sadness (brought on by a combination of chemistry, family history and memories of the early death of my mother which exacerbated the pain of every ensuing separation) seemed unshakable.

But I still had to learn to moderate my emotional outbursts; I had to learn that being operatic in displays of unhappiness would not endear me to those who were leaving me or whom I had to leave--for semesters abroad, for holidays, for journeys elsewhere, for any of life's upheavals--for any reason whatsoever.

Here's what I learned NOT to say:

1. Will we ever see each other again? When we do, will it be like it is now? Will you promise that nothing will change?

2. I can't stand the idea of being alone or being without you. I'll go crazy without you. I won't know what I'll do.

3. Text me every day, every night, maybe every hour, okay? I'll always be here. And I'll expect you to answer immediately when I try to reach you, too, so don't forget that. Don't turn off your phone or your computer, ever.

4. I'm afraid something terrible will happen to you. I keep picturing you in a ditch somewhere.

5. Don't go. Please, don't go. Or don't let me go. Please. Please. Please?

If you find yourself wanting to say or write these phrases, stop yourself before you do; they are not acts of love but are instead markers of narcissism and self-involvement. At age 18, I wrote in one of my journals "I can't stop myself from ruining it every time we have to say good-bye even if it's only for a little while and then I know he loses respect for me because of how I act and then I want to run after him and weep more and apologize and tell him I am really an independent person despite how I seem."

Only years later was I able to learn how to embrace genuine emotional independence and thereby learn how to love without whining, wailing and winding myself up into a frenzy. If I could advise my younger self, here's what I would tell her: You'll be recalled with more affection, respect and warmth if you're remembered with a cheering smile and not with sobs, snivels and the dry-heaves.