No, no, please don't cry. Not now. Anything but that. For most of her resignation speech outside Downing Street, Theresa May managed to keep it together.
Her diction was crisp, her delivery was brisk, her manner was forthright, almost valiant. She was all business, as usual.
For three winters and four summers, for over a thousand days in office, her troubled premiership has been marked by an absence of emotion that had something of the polar freeze about it. And then when the thaw finally came, it was terrible to behold.
Mrs May was overcome by tears as she spoke of her pride at having been PM, even though she admitted to having failed to deliver Brexit
'I will leave the job it has been the honour of my life to hold,' she said, and the first throb of emotion vibrated through her words like a plucked heartstring. She was the second female prime minister, but certainly not the last, she noted.
This was followed by another ominous ripple of anguish, a distress signal for what lay ahead.
For it was when she expressed her gratitude for being given the opportunity to 'serve the country I love' that her voice broke and the tears fell. It was as if a glut of long-suppressed grief had somehow lodged in her throat, and for a moment her face wore an expression of cratered desolation. I half expected her to throw back her head and ululate with despair for about half an hour, but no.
The Prime Minister announced her departure in an emotional statement on the steps of Downing Street today
Instead she pulled herself together, spun on her heel and vanished back inside No 10.
Perhaps she was furious that she had let her feelings show at this moment of all moments; the dusk of her career, the end of May.
I hope she had a stiff whisky and wasn't too hard on herself. For during her time as prime minister, she did her duty, she did her best under the most trying of circumstances and there is no dishonour in that, tears or no tears.
Perhaps many women might feel that by crying in public, even briefly, Mrs May let the side down. Certainly, it is not a good look.
It makes us all appear weak, with the underlying suggestion that women are unfit to cope with the rigours of high office.
Parallels will be drawn with Margaret Thatcher, the only other prime minister to shed a tear in public after being forced to resign.
Yet I would rather the honest tears of these exceptional women than the pompous, reputation burnishing orations that men seem to go in for when they exit the political stage. Sometimes big girls do cry, and it is not always a weakness. To me, Mrs May's teary performance yesterday only reflected how invested she was in trying to clear up the Brexit mess. One can only imagine the frustration, the anger, the regret and the utter exhaustion she has privately endured over
