In our class, my friend C bravely trudged forth with writing about her mother's death. Yay! She had a really nice meditation on faith, family, loss, and she told me before she started reading that she migh have to hand it off to me if she got choked up.
It got too intense for her, so she handed it over to me, at which point I made it through a while before I started to lose it and had to hand it to the woman next to me. I think they thought it was really a testament to the work that I was crying, but really, it's hard to see your friend remembering what she went through at the time and reliving it. It was really solid work on her part, though. By the end of it, a lot of people were misty eyed.
Then, of course, we dove into reading my piece, which I have read aloud a zillion times, tweaking this and that. The last part of it was completely matter-of-fact to me, nothing too raw about it. Naturally, I started crying again.
The kiddos were all looking at me, like, "whoaaaa. Some deep shit and connection to the material right there." Then we all congratulated each other on our digging into the depths of our souls.