Something to cry about
tears are medicine
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There have been several times recently that my 9-year-old daughter has told me before bed that she feels like she just needs to cry and she doesn’t know why. I’ve watched her brain try to fight back and make sense of what might be bothering her, and I’ve told her what I always need to hear in those moments. Maybe you need to hear it, too.
There is nothing to fix or figure out. It’s okay to be just as you are, even if that means letting yourself cry for reasons you don’t really understand.
Of course, I am able to hold that perspective much easier for her than I am for myself. Allowing the release of emotions without trying to assign them to something that feels valid is a lesson I continue to learn over and over, as recently as last week.
It was the time of day that always feels most taxing: the few hours following the family return from work, daycare and school when we try to squeeze in as much quality time as possible while also feeding them and ourselves dinner.
I carried a package of ground turkey up from the basement fridge and walked into the kitchen where I glanced at the dry erase weekly calendar and saw in my own handwriting “turkey kimchi bowls.” Logically I knew a past version of myself had planned this meal, but my body was in protest. In that moment, I truly could not imagine getting ingredients out to cook something that my children would inevitably reject.
As I tried to keep myself moving toward the looming stove, my husband was telling me that there was water on the floor under the dishwasher again, and I mumbled back that we would need to call a plumber. My brain simultaneously noted that I also needed to call the vet about our dog’s teeth along with that plumber call, and it was in that moment I became certain that I would not be cooking dinner for anyone that night.
I knew the plan, I had the tools, but my body would not cooperate. My eyes welled with tears and I told my husband I just couldn’t cook dinner for everyone. I saw the recognition of my state on his face, and he gently took the turkey from my hands, put it back in the fridge, and told me he would handle dinner.
I thanked him, left the room to gather myself, and heard my 2-year-old call me from where he and his brother were watching TV. “Come snuggle, mama,” he said in his tiny, raspy voice.
I took a breath and walked over to join them on the couch and let the tears roll down my cheeks.
The relief of allowing my feelings to surface washed over me as I hugged my boys tightly on either side of my tired body. The release was slow but steady; the tears unassigned to any particular cause, but nonnegotiable nonetheless.
Honestly, not an hour before this, I would have said I was feeling fine. The undercurrent of stress that just bubbled up in my body was barely detectable as I had gone about a normal Tuesday.
My brain was tired from a day of meetings. My body was tired and cold. It was the first day of my cycle and I was bleeding. I had spent a few minutes stretching on my yoga mat right before the kids got home and those feelings bubbled up. It felt like I had stirred everything up with a bit of movement and the pressure was too high to be contained. And I believe with everything in me that those actions are not coincidental.
When I walked back to the kitchen, I said aloud, “I don’t know why I am having a meltdown right now.” But honestly my voice sounded foreign and untrue even as I said those words. The part of me that needed to have a clear explanation for the tears was an older version of myself, an outdated script that would run when I’d judge myself for having feelings that felt inconvenient or counter to the strong, productive person I intended to be.
It has taken me almost 40 years to get better at surrendering to the rise and fall of my emotions and trusting that however I feel likely makes total sense, no matter how unclear in the moment. Our bodies are intelligent beyond understanding at clearing stress when we allow it to flow out with ease.
Tears are medicine, I remind myself and my daughter.
I did not understand this magic as a child or a teen or even a young adult. I thought that being sensitive and unable to keep my emotions from pouring out of body at inconvenient times was a character flaw to be fixed, a penalty I have to pay in this life. I spent a lot of my life trying to avoid these waves, afraid they would overtake me and I wouldn’t be able to come back to the surface.
When I am able to let go, there is such relief in riding these waves. And the more completely I surrender, without trying to assign meaning or figure anything out, the more healing my tears will be.