Crying

By Sharlene

One tear.

That’s how it starts. A single tear runs slowly down your cheek, gently gliding past the grooves of your nose. You taste its saltiness as it lands delicately on your lips. They begin to quiver as you brace yourself for the quiet flood that is sure to follow. You can feel your face growing hotter, your body beginning to shake. You try to gain control, to contain whatever it is inside you that’s pouring out endlessly through your tear ducts. You catch your breath, wipe your face, steady your body. You must do something, anything, to make it stop. But it’s inevitable. All the joy or sorrow or fear you’re feeling is now running down your face in tiny little teardrops.

For when all you want to do is lose control but you’re forced to keep your composure; when your mind is flooded with emotions that are too powerful, too real for it to handle; when every cell in your body is dying to scream and jump and kick and flail; there is nothing left to do, but cry.



Crying is often considered a sign of weakness, something that only petty children and hormonal women take part in. This fable is particularly common among men, who are often raised to believe that real men don’t cry and they need to learn to “suck it up.” My dad is a prime example of this stereotype. I’ve only seen him cry twice, once when he and my mom got a divorce and again when my grandma died. Ironically, the need to resist crying and be strong is in many ways the most cowardly thing one could do, for often times it’s not so much one’s strength that is holding back their tears as it is their fear of revealing a side of themselves that they wish to keep hidden.

We as a culture tend to keep to ourselves and avoid reaching out for help, which helps to explain why we try so hard not to cry, particularly in public. But when we do cry, when we let our emotions be seen, there’s nearly always someone there, whether a family member or a complete stranger, who is willing to offer comfort and support. While crying may bring out what we consider the worst in ourselves, it can also bring out the best in others.

While some people, like my dad, cry only once or twice in their lifetime, there are also some people for whom crying is like breathing. These are the poor saps you see leaving romance movies with red puffy eyes and a dozen used tissues falling out of their pockets. Though people who cry often are often stereotyped as being overly emotional, there’s something to be said for their unabashed emotionality, for they are perhaps the most in tune with their own minds, bodies, and souls.



Scientists have found that tears reduce tension, remove toxins, and increase the body’s ability to heal itself, meaning that those who cry often are healthier than those who don’t. For many women, myself included, crying comes more easily while they’re on their period. I believe it’s the ability to be a bit overemotional and be able to blame it on something else that allows, and sometimes forces, women to express their emotions more openly during their periods. True, their crying outbursts are often met with the “Oh God, she’s on her period” look of horror, but it’s a small price to pay to be able to cry like a baby and have a valid excuse.

I have done my share of crying. Often times it’s been joyful, such as the night Barack Obama was elected President, and other times it’s been hysterical, such as when I dropped the cranberry relish I’d spent all afternoon making all over the kitchen floor, which in hindsight was not merely as traumatic as I made it out to be.

However, my most vivid memories of crying are of sitting on the bathroom floor, my legs pulled up to my chest, my forehead resting on my knees, as tears fall slowly and silently down my face. Hopeless crying. The kind of crying that reveals I have nothing left in me. The kind of crying that comes when I’ve once again been reminded that no matter what I do, no matter how much I try to please him or make him accept me as I am, I will always fail. He will never see. He will never understand. He will never change. It’s the type of crying that I try to forget, to push to the back of my mind; until I’m back in that position, there on the bathroom floor, tears falling slowly and silently down my face, once again reminded of the pain and resentment and anger that no amount of tears can wash away.



Though I know crying will not erase the feelings that have been embedded so deep into my soul, it still helps me to release them, even if it’s only to make room for new ones. I believe that is what crying is essentially: a release. With each tear, a bit of our burden is released, temporarily carried away to a land far away from our conscious mind. As Lemony Snicket said in The Bad Beginning, “...you know that a good, long session of weeping can often make you feel better, even if your circumstances have not changed one bit."