I Cried Watching Inside Out 2

As someone who has struggled with mental health her entire life, both Inside Out 1 and 2 made me cry. In the sequel, I–like probably entire generations–related deeply to how letting anxiety run the show may seem like a good idea at first but can quickly spiral into panic attacks.

Though I’m familiar with anxiety now, I didn’t recognize it when I was younger. The first time I ever heard the term was when a friend noticed my chronic leg restlessness. She said, "You have a lot of anxiety."

I didn’t know what the word meant, nor what it said about me, about my identity. Leg restlessness was something I’d always had. It annoyed teachers and older relatives, but it made me feel really good in the moment. Of course I had no idea that I was using it to release pent-up tension. Plus, my dad did it too, so I felt connected to him through it.

If I think about a moment in the movie where an emotion surfaced unexpectedly, it was when anxiety got so out of control that it led to a literal whirlwind of panic. I guess anxiety can be seductive in that way: you think you're planning for every possible scenario, protecting yourself. And you keep pushing—for perfection, for total control—both of which are illusions. Why do we forget this so easily?

When Riley feels that intense moment of panic on the last day of hockey camp after receiving a 2-minute penalty, then apologizes to her friends for her behavior over the last two days, Joy suddenly returns. I found that scene incredibly emotional.

In my own life, the lows can feel so low that I sometimes lose hope that joy will ever come back. Every time it does, with its lightness, it makes me cry. It makes me think of the hopelessness I felt not long before, and I feel sad for ever having felt so hopeless in the face of a truth that only joy can reveal: that joy is our true nature.

Perhaps this is also a sign that I haven’t fully accepted that it’s OK to experience the full range of emotions, not just joy or sadness. We aren't defined by binaries like "she’s a joyful person" or "she’s a sad person."

As children, if we weren’t allowed to fully experience our emotions, I imagine this leads to oversimplifying and pushing down negative ones—just like Joy in the movie tried to eliminate all of Riley’s negative memories.

In a way, Joy’s actions remind me of what manifestation coaches preach—or at least how we might misinterpret them: that we should ignore all the bad stuff and focus only on the good. That might work for a while, but is it possible that doing this for too long creates an avalanche of bad memories later on?

I saw the ending as a much-needed nudge to accept, and even love, the entirety of who we are. With today’s trend of manifestation and taking radical responsibility for everything that happens to us and how we react, we can easily fall into the trap of thinking that we should be the joyful, 2.0 version of ourselves 100% of the time.

But that’s not possible. It's not human. Is there a way to accept sadness when it makes sense (without romanticizing it)? Is it possible to express our anger from time to time (especially as women) in a safe, healthy way?

But why not allow ourselves to have a good cry when we need it? Some time ago, I started setting a timer for 10-15 minutes and giving myself the space to cry my heart out, feeling as sorry for myself as I possibly can. Just letting it all out without holding back. Can you imagine how that feels?

As adult women, we’re under pressure to always keep it together if we want to be taken seriously. I feel better just thinking about it—completely letting go for 15 minutes. Ranting, feeling like a victim, blaming—everything can just pour out, judgment-free.

The lightness that follows is blissful.