One morning over breakfast when I was seven years old my mothers chin began to quiver.  She had some bad news and she didn't want to have to tell me.  One of my very best friends was a girl named Daniel.  Our mothers had been pregnant at the same time.
We spent many days side by side.   Our moms and dads liked to spend weekends together so we grew together.  That morning my mother told me that Daniel had cancer. I didn't know what it meant. She had leukemia.  My mother tried to explain what was happening inside Daniel's body but I didn't understand.  All I saw was that my mother seemed hopeless.  When I asked if she would get better my mother could not answer me.  I remember walking over to a bay window in our living room.  I stared at the blue and white plaid curtains, confused and sad.  I wanted to cry because I loved my friend and I didn't want her to be sick.  I choked back my tears because I did not want to cry in front of my mother.
I saw the movie Beaches sifting next to my hysterically crying mother in a movie theater when I was nine or ten.  I wanted to cry but I fought very hard when the girls’ mother got sick and died.  I didn't let one tear fall even though I wanted to cry so badly.  The pressure I created inside of myself in order not to cry was very uncomfortable.
I was twelve, standing at the top of the stairs in our vacation home.  My mother was behind her bedroom door crying on the phone.  I could hear her sniffling and bleating tones but I could not make out what was being said.  She hung up the phone and came out of her bedroom hysterically crying.  She didn't hold me or hug me when she delivered the news.  She just looked down at me and said that the doctors had found many tumors in grandmas’ stomach, she had cancer and six months to live.  I should have cried.  I didn't feel.  I had become very good and not crying by then.
About six months later my brother and I were about to go on an annual vacation with our other grandparents.  Our mom and dad brought us to the hospital to see our dying grandma to say goodbye in case she died while we were away on vacation.  We never saw her because she had heart failure on our way up to her room.  My brother and I were waiting in a room with our other cousins and my mom and dad came in to say that grandma had died.  My brother went into a hysterical fit.  He threw himself on the floor and then hid under a table crying loud and hard.  I did not cry.  I was ashamed that I was not crying but I had always been ashamed to cry.
Writing about these experiences as an adult has caused me to cry very hard.  I was able to tell my friends Dom and Nikki about these experiences.  I cried very hard with little shame or embarrassment.  I feel relieved.  I feel like pressure has been released inside of me.
This feeling of pressure is very interesting.  When we don't find emotional relief this pressure is established.  When don't see the events of our lives as emotional equations we may end up using our defenses to cope rather than having a real understanding of our selves.  I can see the cause and effect nature of my experiences, which makes it possible to accept these experiences as a part of who I am.  When events cause emotions but we don't see the equation, we can feel torment, pressure, a sense of inner turmoil and confusion.  As sad things happened in my life I would find relief from the emotional discomfort in food or television.  I did not reach out to other people, but retreated from them instead.  The sense of isolation that resulted from this retreat was another source of emotional discomfort that lead to further retreat, pacification and isolation.
The balloon that has been growing inside of me only grew stronger when I would experience pain and not understand how to constructively work through these experiences.  When I would choke back tears I was blowing into the balloon inside my heart.  While I masked my true feelings or pacified myself for many years I inflated the balloon.  When this
balloon is big there is little room left for other important aspects of life.  Eventually the pressure caused the balloon to burst.
When this happened I was forced to reach out to the people around me.  My intimacy needs were met by the support of friends and family who teach us that we are needed as we need others.  This experience of reaching out also showed me how we can help others and how others can help us.   I think that this metaphor of a balloon can be used to illustrate the idea of pent up emotions to children.  This may help them to express their emotions, utilize outlets for emotions and become less tortured.