Trapped Tears

I was 7 and I fell and hurt my knee. I wailed in pain as tears streamed down my face and I sobbed wildly. It was simple then: I got hurt, I was in pain, I cried. Not just "cried" with my eyes, but with my whole body. I sobbed hard, gasping for air, letting out whatever screams my body developed in response to the pain. It was a complete release of what I was feeling at that moment. There was no self-consciousness, there was no censorship, there was no control.

Then the woman who was taking care of me got down on her knees, took my face into her hands, and said, "Don't cry darling. A lady never cries."

Those words quickly and imperceptibly traveled from her lips and into my face, freezing themselves onto my cheeks, where they would cozily create an army base called Fort Larissa Shall Not Cry.

Our bodies are smart. They figure out what they have to do to survive and they remember it forever. On that day, when my 7-year-old self's ladyhood was threatened, my body was quick to help me: it froze my face so that no tears would cross it, no matter what.

Here's the thing, though, about our bodies deciding something for us when we're 7 years old: we're bound to forget the decision was ever made. It's possible I would not have been bothered by that, if I weren't an actress. But I am, and I found out that sometimes characters have to cry. So I soon realized that it was practically impossible for me to shed a single tear in front of other people, even if I was completely emotionally connected to a character's reality. And I really thought I would never be able to change that. I didn't know why that was the case- I figured maybe it was because I should only play "strong" women who never cry.

That could have worked for the rest of my life, if I were the kind of actor who only wants to play one kind of character. As you may have guessed, that was not the case. I went through high school and college trying out all sorts of tricks, reading all kinds of books, studying with many teachers. But to no avail. I couldn't cry. One day, shortly after graduating from college, in a moment of despair, thinking I would never be a great actress, I wrote a prayer, "Please, to the Powers That Be, I ask that you help me open up as an actor and be able to express every emotion necessary with truth and honesty."

A month later I was accepted to The Actor's Studio M.F.A program, and I went. I didn't know it at the time, but that would be the answer to my prayer. It was actually a simple phrase that did it. After one of the basic exercises in sense memory, I was frustrated with my inability to let go and be fully affected by the exercise, and my genius teacher said, "Your problems in life are your problems in acting. Your habits in life are your habits on stage. Your blocks as a person are your blocks as an actor."

Immediately I was transported back to that day, 14 years earlier, when my body made a decision that would become so permanent I would assume I had no choice over it whatsoever. As though the Fort Larissa Shall Not Cry residing in my cheeks had been made of solid ice, my teacher's words became the hot air that melted it, and I was free.

It was not an immediate process. I was able to let out a few tears, but there were simply too many years of repressed sobs for me to be able to suddenly let it all go. I would find myself, weeks later, lying in bed at night and suddenly sobbing, loudly, like a child, for no particular reason. I knew something had really shifted when I watched the movie, "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" and cried hysterically in front of friends who had never seen me cry before. At the same time that I was crying, and they were asking me over and over again what was wrong, I was laughing. I was so incredibly happy, I felt so relieved! I was crying, really really crying, with abundant tears and crazy child-like noises, in front of my friends!

As my teacher predicted, as soon as I started letting go of my armor in life, I was able to open up on stage, and my prayer was answered. Bringing that day when I, at 7, learned that a lady never cries, to consciousness, gave me a choice over it. I told another teacher of mine about it and she said, "well, ladies can't be actresses, so you better give that up anyway." And I did. I cried. I cried in front of people- and not gracefully. I was no lady.

I still have to soften my face and give myself permission to cry, every day, and certainly every time before I act. It's funny because people who have only known me within the past four years think I'm a cry-baby; they think I have absolutely no problem whatsoever accessing my vulnerability and releasing emotions. I'd go so far as to say I'm known for my ability to cry. I was even recommended recently for a part that demanded a lot of crying, under the premises that "Oh, Larissa can totally cry on cue." I have to say it's still hard for me to believe that something that was nearly impossible for me for 14 years is now only a breath away, but it is, and I am forever grateful.

As I have said in a previous post, I aim to be an open vessel for every character I play to live through me. It is a gift, not only to me but to every character I play, to have this block removed from my face, history, and heart. In life, too, I find the moments when it's appropriate to sob, scream, thrash, gasp for air, and cry ferociously, uncontrollably- like a 7-year-old who has never been told a lady never cries.

It's delicious, it's precious, it's choice, and it's freedom.