Dropping The Armor: Courage In Seeing and Being Seen

By Joey Parsons
‍Actor, writer, and co-host of thebigda Podcast

In my acting training, I’ve learned that emotions are often trapped in the body. I’ve sometimes been asked in post-show talkbacks how I manage to prepare myself for performances that require enormous catharsis. I will usually exhaust myself with a run, and then do 45 minutes of hip-opening yoga. So much trauma and grief is stored in the hips, and if I can get myself loose and available, usually the emotion will just come with the words. It’s a disappointingly dull answer.

I know firsthand that grief takes an enormous toll on one’s body. I have had a chronic cough for over a decade that has bewildered over twenty medical doctors and practitioners. Delving into Eastern thoughts around grief, I discovered that profound sorrow sits in the lungs. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2009, and though she fought mightily, it took her sweet life eight years ago today. This cough - strange and ugly - began years before her actual death. But it’s only recently that I realized I cannot discount anticipatory grief. It’s a grief we rarely speak of. As is mourning a job loss. Or a life we may have hoped for that did not materialize. Grief is a grey and heavy burden. How are we all just walking around with the weight of it? I have a theory: Armor.

When I moved to New York City at 24 years old, I quickly learned that I needed to protect myself from creepy and undesired behavior. This manifested in a steely demeanor, a determined gait, and typically headphones or earbuds - listening to music, or audiobooks. (As I knock on wood,) I can gratefully say that I’ve never been harassed or attacked in the city that I love, and I’m certain much of that came from the armor I systematically built up. However, I’ve recently realized that armor has perhaps also shielded me from connection. From joy. From love.

Armando speaks of nature as medicine. He advises his clients to get outside. To put their toes in the grass, to get in the sun, to literally hug a tree. I’m writing this in February in New York City. Temperatures are below normal, which has made for a brutal winter so far. So in lieu of heading to Brighton Beach, I’ve decided on a little experiment: I’ve started walking around the city without earbuds - actually looking at people. Men, women, children. Genuinely looking people in the eye. Seeing them. Smiling at them.

It doesn’t matter whether I get a smile back. What has fascinated me is the split second of recognition - the moment someone realizes they are being seen. It often appears to be confusing. We’re not used to it. But we are part of nature too, right? Connection eases our burden, however small. Easing even the smallest of loads for a stranger can be moving, for both parties. And the ripple effect is unfathomable.

As I’ve aged, I realize I need this armor less. I now know how to deal with unwanted attention. I know how to de-escalate tension. And so maybe I can start letting some of the joy of the world seep back in. I’m not very patient with myself regarding change, but I am getting better. And I find that when I’m home at the end of the day, on days I’ve spent actually looking at people and acknowledging their existence, I feel more connected. Perhaps this is one small part in which we can not only heal, but contribute…