It is a known fact that we humans are emotional creatures. But it is also true that some of us have live wires for veins; that we’re magnets, walking around with our hearts on our sleeves, a heart that feels too much.
For someone like me, it is becoming increasingly hard to watch anything with a sad storyline, sad visuals, or a sad ending. And yet, I still watch it.
Particularly, I like the relatable stories — the breakup, the grieving, the healing journey. The stories that feel a little too much like real life. As a self-proclaimed born poet, I don’t think there is anything I could do to “toughen up.” I wouldn’t want to anyway. I don’t mind being soft. I don’t mind putting myself in other people’s shoes.
It only becomes problematic when the people are fictional characters and I’m still bawling my eyes out in front of the television.
Recently, I was watching a series where some of its characters were going through different crises — breakup, business failure, depression, and sexual harassment. And every time they highlighted these struggles, I found myself pausing the show between scenes to put myself togther. Each one of their struggles felt too real.
As a writer, I’d love for my intended audience to reach this level of connection with something I’ve written. So, in that sense, it’s mission accomplished.
Well done, movie makers.
But why does this happen?
Why can two people sit on the same couch, watch the same scene, and one person is falling apart and reaching for the tissues while the other is wondering what’s for dinner?
I’ve done some explorations based on personal experience, and a quick research.
Part of the answer may simply lie in empathy. Some of us are more emotionally reactive than others. Not weaker, just softer. We don’t simply observe what a character is going through; on some level, we simulate it. We imagine what it would feel like to be abandoned, betrayed, grieving, lonely, or heartbroken. Or if we’ve lived through those moments, we’re reminded what it felt like all over again.
But the brain doesn’t necessarily need the experience to be happening directly to us for the emotions to feel real.
And then there is identification.
The more familiar the story feels, the easier it may be to see ourselves, or someone we love, in it. A breakup isn’t just a breakup when you’ve lived through one. A grieving character isn’t just a character when you’ve sat beside someone who was grieving. A lonely person staring at their phone can suddenly become a version of you on a night you would rather forget.
Maybe that’s why realistic scenes can hurt more than exaggerated ones.
We know the difference between a movie monster and a real monster. We know that some impossible disaster belongs safely in the realm of fiction. But a woman sitting alone after a breakup? A person quietly packing up his dead best friend’s room? Someone staring at a phone that isn’t going to ring?
That’s real life. And it’s rough.
Perhaps our emotional response has less to do with whether the story is fictional and more to do with whether it feels possible.
I’m not saying I crave feeling blue. But perhaps there’s a part of me that likes being in touch with my naked soul; with this desire to feel deeply; to know that I’m only sad because I know it can happen in real life, that it’s happened to people I know, or to me, and that I care this much.
Maybe the tears aren’t really about the movie but about recognition. About knowing that underneath all our routines, responsibilities, defenses, sarcasm, and carefully constructed adult selves, we are still these remarkably fragile creatures who can be devastated by love, loss, loneliness, and longing.
That’s the strange beauty of being human. We can tell when something isn’t real and still feel it. We can watch a stranger’s heartbreak on a screen and somehow feel our own chest tighten. We can cry for people who don’t exist because what they’re feeling absolutely does.
Why do some of us choose to let it out where others don’t? I’m not sure what led them to hold back. But maybe being affected by the human condition isn’t something we should toughen ourselves out of.
Some people do a good job masking it or really are capable of not connecting at all. But some of us were simply built with the emo volume turned up.