I am not a strong person in terms of putting on "woman pants."  I understand the value of being a female "Marlboro man" during moments of crisis, shielding emotion from children and spouses, mostly to avoid tiring the man out with your emotions, to help and feel the adrenaline rush of basically being a strong type of woman until you somehow break down internally.  This sort of activity, helping and clutching up in crisis is a deep matriarchal tradition in my female line.

I don't do self abnegation and help that requires bottling up anything.  I tend to fill with negativity and emotions that goad me to crumpling at somebody's door as a neurotic bag.  I deposit my dirt and trash and fear at other people's doors hoping that they'll prop me back up.  Just as Woody Allen collapses in a neurotic thought pile up, each hobbling his mind and body worse than the other.  I don't have a mechanism to press on or be positive, I resent people who expect me to put on my dress and lipstick and not feel things.  The people with whom we can't share our feelings are part of a long list, men who we are afraid of boring or seeming like a fussbudget, coworkers who gravitate toward alpha positivity rather than Debbie Downer, friends who prefer to rely and dump their feelings on us, and others who spiral out and worry.  Silencing the negative cyclone of thoughts tends to make me feel weak.  I don't have an internal engine of building myself up.  This is not the mechanism of a grown woman who can control her feelings, stand on her feet, protect her children and nurture her surroundings.  The hearth must be kept and it must be warm and pleasant.

I know what must be done.  I know that really children buckle under feelings of fear and weakly deposit them on anyone willing to listen.  Or somehow dump their burden.