Dilyn's Dialogues

Why do humans cry?In this episode, I explore something we all experience—but rarely stop to understand.Not all tears are the same.Some are basal tears—quiet, constant, keeping our eyes moist and protected.Some are reflex tears—an immediate response to irritants like smoke, dust, or even cutting onions.But then there are emotional tears—and that’s where things get deeper.Crying isn’t weakness. It’s regulation.It’s the body’s way of:releasing built-up pressureself-soothing the nervous systemcommunicating what words sometimes can’tand connecting us to othersWe cry from joy, stress, sadness, grief, and loss—because we’re human.And yet, in U.S. culture, many of us are taught to suppress it:“tough it out”“don’t cry”“stay professional”Shaped by gender norms, media, and generational patterns, we’ve learned to hide something that is actually biologically and emotionally necessary.But as Aniela Jaffé (a student of Carl Jung) echoed:What you resist, persists.Suppressing emotions doesn’t make them disappear—it often makes them louder.So maybe the real issue isn’t crying…It’s the discomfort we’ve been taught to feel around it.In this episode, I unpack the science, the stigma, and the humanity behind tears—and close with a personal poem, #cry, as a reminder:Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do…is let it out.

After pressing pause on Dilyn’s Dialogues for a while, I’m back—and this episode explains why.In this Season 2 premiere, I talk about what led me to step away from the podcast: the reality of balancing school, life, and the sneaky grip of perfectionism. Somewhere along the way, I realized something important—this show was never meant to be perfect. It was meant to be real.I also share the story behind the name Dilyn’s Dialogues. The dialogues aren’t just the conversations I hope to have with future guests or the community listening along. They’re also the ongoing dialogues in my own mind—the questions, reflections, doubts, and discoveries that shape who we are becoming.Most importantly, this episode introduces the theme that brought me back: enough.Enough as a reminder.Enough as a boundary.Enough as a quiet declaration that simply showing up can be enough.To close the episode, I read one of my poems exploring that idea and the ongoing journey of learning to believe it.Season 2 begins here—not with perfection, but with presence.

In this farewell-for-now episode, I reflect on the roller coaster of emotions from quitting my job and leaving school, to creating my podcast Dilyn’s Dialogues, to deciding to return to school. I talk about the difference between vlogging and podcasting, the grief that surfaced after saying goodbye to my therapy group, and the lessons that came from it all. This isn’t an ending—it’s a pause, a moment to breathe before the next chapter begins.  #dilynsdialogues #lifepivot #griefandgrowth #selfdiscovery #healingjourney #survivingtothriving #RRP #TeresaReitz

In this light-hearted episode, I introduce my Troll doll Anomaly and share the backdrop of my podcasting studio—including my flag, plaque & books. Expect fun reflections, a little nostalgia, and the quirks that make this project uniquely mine.Hashtags:#LGBTGIA+ #psychology #wecandohardthings #glennondoyle #anomaly #Maly #MalyandMe

These past two weeks have been raw—grief, despair, and the uncertainty of quitting school. Losing a part of my identity, missing campus life, friends, and experiences. But even in the gallows, I found glimmers: starting this podcast, dancing like no one was watching, and spending meaningful time with my wife. Moving through loss, embracing new opportunities, and discovering the power of support and connection that I didn’t know I needed.#MentalHealthMatters #GriefJourney #Resilience #Authenticity #Storytelling #Trauma #PTSD #cPTSD #GnG #GlimmersNGallows #RRP #RelationshipRecoveryProcess #DoomsdayReligiousCult #CultThis is the piece I wrote called "Lost:"You know those moments when something feels so instinctively right you can almost feel your life pivot under your feet? A decision so deep you know it will change everything. It shakes loose the old scaffolding, destabilizes what you thought you knew, and opens a road into certain uncertainty. Like a soldier performing an about-face, you snap into a new direction so abruptly you barely have time to breathe, let alone process what’s about to unfold.I’ve just made one of those turns. In truth, it’s one of several over the past four years and they leave me spinning—like an astronaut adrift, tumbling slowly through space. After chasing a degree for more than twenty-five years, finally seizing the chance to make it real, I decided to quit school. It feels, on one hand, like a trauma reflex; on the other, like the only right move for me in this moment. I still hold the hope of finishing a bachelor’s someday, but the path looks nothing like what I imagined. For now, I’m learning to steer through the pull of grief, doubt, and despair while trying to orient myself toward whatever comes next.My whole identity had wrapped itself around that twenty-five-year goal. I wanted the “true” college experience—being on campus, getting involved, volunteering, learning, meeting new people. And I was doing it. I transferred from the local junior college into a university for the first time ever, got accepted into the honors program, joined Psi Chi and the APA, met a fewpeople, did well in my classes. Until I wasn’t. And everything went to hell.The reality of campus was not the dream. At fifty, even though they say “it’s never too late,” it is sometimes too late for certain experiences. Not for a degree itself, but for the kind of student life I imagined thirty years ago. I’m different now. And I’m having the damndest time accepting it.Then came the classes—the afternoon course with no structure, surprise group projects, group mates who hijacked or melted down, and me stuck as peacemaker. The evening online class with seventy students, a late professor who burned time on small talk and monologues instead of teaching. The final straw: a research-methods test that couldn’t be scored because of a software glitch. The only option was a cumulative make-up during finals week, despite all the hours I’d spent studying and the sense I had done well. It felt like punishment for things beyond my control.Census date loomed. Should I stay or should I go? Overwhelm, helplessness, no way forward. When that happens, I flee. This is my pattern. On September 16th I went to campus one last time, dropped my classes, and walked away. Relief washed in, but also stillness. No momentum. No goal. Only a black hole of second-guessing: Did I do the right thing? Was I too hasty? Could I have managed it?I wanted things to be different. I wanted this to work out. Instead, I’m left with an echo of earlier collapses—my own suicide attempt at eighteen, and the events that led to October 21, 2021, with an aftermath that still lingers.

In this episode, I sit with the feeling of being adrift—without clear purpose, weighed down by sadness, and unsure of the next step. It’s not about fixing or wrapping things neatly, but about naming what it means to feel lost and allowing space for that raw, human vulnerability.

In this episode of Dilyn's Dialogues, Dilyn gets real about the difference between regret and grief, sharing a personal story about how change and new beginnings can bring up feelings of loss. She explains disenfranchised grief—the kind of grief that isn't always recognized or understood by others—and reminds listeners that it's okay to feel both excitement for what's ahead and sadness for what’s been lost.

Welcome to Dilyn's Dialogues, a space dedicated to finding meaning through words, one honest conversation at a time. Hosted by Dilyn, this channel chronicles a personal journey of healing from childhood trauma and late-onset cPTSD. Here, we believe that sharing our stories is a powerful tool for recovery.Through personal narrative and, eventually, interviews with everyday people, we'll explore the messy and nonlinear path of healing. Expect real talk about listening to your body, setting boundaries, finding your voice, and embracing vulnerability. This is a community for anyone who is navigating their own healing journey and wants to feel less alone on the path to wholeness.