Exploring having all the feels and experiencing deep hurt, even when the tears don’t come – and the rare, monumental moments when they finally do.
I struggle to explain the following concept to people – then again the spoken word isn’t my speciality. Hopefully I can express here what’s on my heart today. Of all days to have this feeling, but also of all days…
I don’t know if this is a universal sensation, but I imagine it’s not. I’m talking about this feeling of needing to cry or even feeling on the verge of tears but you’re not a cryer so it just never happens even though you know you NEED to cry. Have you ever felt that? No, just me? Well I feel it goes like this:
You feel it get tight in your chest. It’s like you feel the weight of something pressing down or sitting there, unmovable. And you know a good cry might help, but crying just doesn’t come naturally. I’m a mad cryer, and therefore often struggle to express emotions of sadness how I think others expect me to. It’s like there’s this strange in-between space: wanting the release of tears, almost envying those who can cry easily, but instead carrying emotions in quieter, heavier, often perceived as ‘checked out’ ways. It’s not that the feelings aren’t there; it’s that they resist coming out in that particular form. And sometimes, that makes you wonder if you’re missing out on a kind of relief your body was meant to have.
There is a comfort in knowing that even when the tears don’t come, the heaviness is not unseen. Psalm 34:18 reminds us, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Even if we can’t release our emotions through crying, we are not carrying them alone. Even if others can’t see it and there may be not outward signs of grief, He knows and cares.
But what of the physical or social repercussions?
I like to learn new, weird, or obscure things so I’m constantly Googling things – my dad used to tell me I asked too may questions, said it could be annoying. I call it being well informed. Anyway, when I Googled “is crying physically good for you” I found some interesting information. What I learned is that crying isn’t just emotional—it is actually physical, too. Our bodies are actually wired to release stress through tears – cue all my fellow mad cryers. Emotional tears carry stress hormones like cortisol, so when we cry, we’re literally flushing some of that heaviness out of our system. Crying also activates the parasympathetic (ooooh big science word, had me using spell check!) nervous system, the part of us that whispers, you can calm down now, all clear, chill sister. That’s why so many people feel lighter, steadier, and maybe even a little sleepy after a good cry. I know if I ever make it there I’m physically exhausted, but that may be just another way my body acts out. . . probably. It’s important to note though, it’s not weakness – it’s chemistry, yay science! Which is maybe why, for those of us who don’t cry easily, it can feel like we’re missing out on the body’s natural reset button.
While thinking about crying – or not crying as it were – today, I remembered about a dear friend who survived a very serious car accident many years ago. She worked tirelessly to regain normal life—relearning routines, walking, and taking care of herself—but for years, something as seemingly simple as crying just didn’t happen. She couldn’t produce tears, no matter how hard she tried, even in moments that should have naturally moved her to them as she’s a very caring person. It wasn’t until years later, sitting in a movie theater, that the floodgates finally opened and she cried. For her, that release wasn’t just emotional—it was monumental. I still remember her mom telling us about it. It was proof that her body and mind were finally in sync again, that a part of her that had been lost was coming back, and that something as simple as tears could carry a weight far heavier than most people realize. It’s little. It’s simple. It’s not even a required bodily function. But it still meant a lot.
To be honest though, that’s part of what makes this hard – knowing that crying is designed to help us, but still feeling locked out of it. Instead of tears, the emotions show up in other ways: tight shoulders, restless thoughts, snapping at small things, or just that quiet heaviness you carry around staring at the wall not knowing how to respond when people ask if you’re ok. It’s like the body is begging for a release it can’t quite access – that word on the tip of your tong. Sometimes you wish you could borrow someone else’s tears, just for a moment, to feel that raw unraveling, messy relief, just general release. I love to sing, but I’m not good at it. This is like that. Wanting to hit that note or belt that chorus, knowing the song doesn’t mean quite as much because you can’t. Because even if you’re “not a crier,” there are times when it feels like crying is exactly what you need – letting that perfect stanza rip as loud and as clear as you can alone in your car. Mourning and heaviness are real, valid, and should be honored. Crying – or the inability to cry – isn’t a measure of strength or weakness; it isn’t a measure of love, care, or disinterest; it’s a part of the journey of feeling, processing, and ultimately finding peace and comfort.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Matthew 5:4
Maybe that’s the paradox (something that seems absurd or contradictory but is actually true) of not “being a crier” – you carry emotions differently, and that’s okay. Crying might be one form of release, but it isn’t the only one. Some people let it out through words, through writing, through silence, through movement or through stillness, through laughter, through song – you learn what works for you. Maybe the point isn’t whether the tears fall, but whether we give ourselves permission to feel, to process, to let things move through us in whatever way our bodies allow not matter anyone else’s opinion. Crying is a language, but it’s not the only one – and even if the tears don’t come, it doesn’t mean the feelings aren’t real, that the grief, sadness, or hurt doesn’t exist, or that the healing isn’t happening. Because it is. In its own way, and on its own time.
So if I cry know it’s a BIG deal and you should probably give me some space. But also know that sometimes it looks like I don’t care or have “resting not nice person face”. . . but the feeling is there. I hope I explained that sufficiently – today’s one of those big feels days… Point is be kind – you never know what someone is going through because there’s not always the evidence of tears. Love them anyway.
Life Thereafter 