For Crying Out Loud
"Your tears are magical medicine."
This was my favorite reflection that I received after completing a 10-month facilitation and leadership cohort at the end of 2022.
One of the most nourishing elements of my journey toward self-remembering has been experiencing containers where my tears are met with reverence—spaces where I have learned to cry out loud.
For most of my life, I’ve tried to stifle or hide my tears. I thought of them as proof that I was over-sensitive, unreasonably emotional, or too fragile. I believed that tears would discredit me from being seen as a strong and capable person.
The first time I found myself on a therapist’s couch, it was just a few minutes before I burst into tears. I couldn’t explain why. And yet, the tears had been waiting for their moment, spilling out almost immediately.
As my tears flowed in that session, I felt weak, embarrassed, and confused. I wished they would never have appeared. They felt like a betrayal.
Now, many years later, in my sessions with trusted teachers, coaches, and mentors, my tears still spill easily and often. But instead of suppressing them, I’ve learned to open myself to them; to allow, appreciate, and attend to my tears with patience and compassion.
It’s been extra potent (and at times uncomfortable) learning to allow my tears in group settings. I have a special place in my heart for the groups where I first felt safe to do so. In those spaces, three things were required: confidentiality, feeling that no one was judging me or trying to save me, and knowing that I had no responsibility for others’ discomfort with my expression. And, with practice, I remarkably discovered the option to stay connected to my tears and my peers at the same time.
When my old habit of clenching down resurfaces – when I don’t open to my tears – it’s evident how much effort is required to disallow them. Intensity floods toward, finding a way to manage the rush of shame. My face crinkles up tightly, willing myself to disappear. It’s exhausting. When I’m able to let my tears flow – not squeezing them back, apologizing, or even looking away – I experience enormous relief.
I now see how resisting my tears has been a distraction from the things deep inside me that had been asking for my attention. When I’m not managing what to do about the tears, I have room to slow down, to be with them, and to get curious about what they’re trying to say.
It has been through my own experiences of showing my flushed, tear-stained face, with puffy eyes, that I’ve learned how important, how loving, and how rare it is that we as a society make space for tears.
In learning this, tears have become precious to me. I no longer take guilty pleasure in meeting someone else’s tears from a place of feeling glad it’s not me. Instead, I have genuine approval for all tears and a softness toward their presence.
Image of an eye brimming with tears
As a coach, tears are never the goal of my sessions, but when they come, they are wholeheartedly welcomed. I always slow down for tears. I give them the space they deserve and get curious about what they’re communicating, and even what they might be asking.
Some tears are ancient, unearthing the unfelt feelings of our child selves, our parents, or our ancestors. These tears ask for recognition of the grief and the pain we are now ready to face and, perhaps, begin to release.
Some tears are the product of fear and worry, coming faster when we repeat old stories to ourselves about regrets or future predictions of disappointment and failure. These tears ask for grounding – to be included as part of the whole while we are reminded of the safety and connection that we can access concurrently.
Some tears simply highlight what is real and tender for us; what the thing beneath the thing truly is. Whether it’s sadness, doubt, joy, or love that inspires them, these tears ask us to include our hearts in the conversation as we gently find our way forward.
I treat tears like the magical medicine I now know them to be. Tears to me are special visitors. I delight in listening to their stories, messages, and invitations. I study them as a compass that can guide us toward the places that are most ripe for exploration.
Learning to cry out loud has been one of the most beautiful and unexpected gifts on my path. It has made me a better client and a better coach, and continues to kindle my conviction that we all deserve spaces where all parts of us can be seen and celebrated, and no natural expression is a problem to be solved.
With Love,
~Caryn
