The Hidden Benefits of Tears
Our magnificent human bodies are wise and always striving for equilibrium. Nobody likes to cry, yet crying can be cathartic and useful. The body seeks balance, repair, and restoration. Our tears are functional and adaptive. They not only protect our eyes from allergens, fumes, and irritants, but they also escort strong feelings out of the body to help us heal.
Reluctance to allow our tears is understandable. It is connected to an instinctual tendency to avoid pain, a desire for composure, a fear that it might make things worse, or embarrass us. Aside from that, it can be physically uncomfortable. We feel pressure in our heads, our throats choke up, our eyes and noses drip and run. We get a headache and need to nap. On top of that, we are encumbered with years of cultural conditioning. Crying is accepted in infancy, and then slowly tamped down. Small children in their primary grades can easily be distracted from their tears by well-meaning teachers who don’t want the other students to be set off, or label the upset child as a “crybaby”. Frustrated parents can yell inane words like, “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you something to cry about.” This discouragement prevails through all ages. I observed this firsthand when I arrived at a Senior Center to give a presentation on "Handling Holiday Grief" and found the title had been changed to “How to Be Happy.” The scheduler couldn’t deal with potential sadness “infecting” the lunchroom. See my June 9th blog post.
If you are grieving the loss of your loved one, and the cataclysmic life changes that have been thrust upon you, you are going to cry. You are going to be surprised by how hard grieving can be, and how involuntary the intense emotional swings may feel.
Some of us cry easily, while others are more stoic. As a Bereavement Counselor, most of my clients presented with the complaint that they were crying too much and needed tools for emotional regulation. A small percentage were dismayed that they couldn’t seem to cry at all, leaving them feeling cold and disloyal. All sought a middle ground.
I repeatedly saw that in cases of Delayed Grief, the denial of emotion often exacted a physical cost. Avoidance, distraction, or suppression had at the time seemed like the only sensible course, but over time it had a way of negatively impacting the individual as well as other members of a family, especially children.
It wasn’t until I studied Family Systems Theory in Grad School that I came to make sense of a surprisingly intense crying episode in my childhood. I was 7 years old when my grandfather died. He frequently mispronounced my name, and I was not close to him. Yet, I recall his wake in vivid detail. It was my first experience with death coupled with the first time I saw my father’s vulnerability as he sat in an empty row of chairs with his shoulders slumped, and his head hanging down. My big strong Dad was immobilized and silent. His oldest brother stood at the front of the room loudly boasting to a circle of visitors about his recent European vacation and his appointment to the Planning Commission. My grandfather, mere inches away lay cold in his casket while my grandmother whispered in Polish to her friend. Everything felt off. There were no consolations being offered and no one cried.
When we got to the cemetery my grandmother’s footing became unsteady. Two dark-suited men from the funeral parlor escorted her to a folding chair seated in front of the casket, whereupon she let out a gasp and quickly pressed her white handkerchief to her mouth. The priest read his prayers from a small black book, made the sign of the cross, and sprinkled holy water on the coffin. A red satin ribbon angled diagonally across the spray of red carnations and dark green ferns read “PA”. It was the perfect minimalist salute to an immigrant who never grasped the English language. Words were not revered in that home, nor ours.
When the men began to slowly crank the handles that released the straps to lower the casket into the deep hole, I let out a primal wail. Being a generally quiet child I had no idea I was even capable of such noise. With a will of its own, it continued. I couldn’t stop. It rattled everyone. My sister’s boyfriend gently escorted me across the grass toward the parked cars while tears streamed down my face. It took years to understand the dynamics involved, for when the adults in a family do not take responsibility for allowing or expressing their feelings, and for setting examples of safe ways to emote, a child can easily become the spout for that collective, unexpressed emotion. Seeing the stark reality of burial for the first time, I unwittingly assumed the job of emoting for them all. No one acknowledged it, but neither did they try and shut me down, they let me be and it subsided on its own. We drove to the reception at the VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars) Hall to be greeted by a live polka band, a large buffet of ethnic foods, and an open bar. I was exhausted and was trying my best to remain unnoticed, still sensing that it all felt wrong.
Some cultures have established traditions to allow and promote grief tears. Keening was one such practice employed in Gaelic wakes, funerals, and burials. The town Keener, usually a woman, initiated and led the chorus of crying throughout the services. The collective sighing, weeping, whimpering, sobbing, and wailing was purposeful. Keening was considered the labor of death, which escorted the soul out of the world, just as the labor of birth escorts life into the world. It was believed to help release sorrow from the hearts and bodies of the bereaved. Unfortunately, the churches banned Keening in the 1600s, viewing it as uncivilized and a threat to their view of the afterlife.
Holding it together and shutting down tears might seem like a good idea under certain circumstances, but it creates a vicious feedback loop that does not sustain. It’s a stop-gap measure that pushes the emotions deep down into the body, where they can hide for years. As more losses pile up it gets harder and harder to hammer them down. The muscles tighten, the shoulder freezes, the back locks up, the knees give out. In his book, “The Body Keeps the Score” Bessel van der Kolk expands upon this. Any massage therapist or trauma therapist will attest to muscle memory, and the emotional releases they have witnessed.
Crying is a release that can help us heal. Tears offer us a washing, a release, and a healing all packaged into biological cleaners and uplifters, flowing chemicals, enzymes, and hormones. They are functional. They clear and flush. They are made up of a fascinating complex of hormones, electrolytes, lipids, and mucins that function in complex combinations to protect and heal. We can readily see their biological function when it comes to allergens, dust, smoke, exposure to chemicals, or the repair of ocular injuries. These tears are called reflexive or basal tears, and their chemical makeup reflects the job of repelling allergens, washing out debris, lubricating and protecting, defending against pathogens and infections, and maintaining ocular health.
More fascinating is a second array of chemicals that are assigned to emotional tears. Emotional tears carry higher concentrations of hormones, endorphins, neuropeptides, and neurotransmitters, which positively impact the nervous system. Oxytocin, prolactin, serotonin, cortisol, and adrenaline have all been found in emotional tears. They not only flush toxins; they release stress from the body. They calm us, help us regulate emotion, point toward restorative rest, and return balance.
Sometimes we all need a good cry. Don’t be afraid to free your tears, whether they be old or new. Your grief wants release. It begs for catharsis. Your tears are a gift from your body’s own innate wisdom. If you are afraid of crying and wish for guidance, help is readily available through counseling, support groups, Hospice programs, and online.
You can learn techniques to both release and curtail, to evoke and to contain, and defend against intensity. If you have had a history of depression or mental illness you may need/want extra support. Consult with your doctor; find a therapist who can help you create a plan to begin to identify triggers, self-monitor, and access support.
The good news, according to George Bonanno’s research is that the vast majority (approximately 90% of us) demonstrate resilience in the face of grief. A small percentage will encounter Prolonged Grief and need some extra help.
Shed your tears and try to encourage your friends and family members to allow their own. You can immediately recognize your own discomfort with another’s sorrow if you find yourself trying to insert your grief stories, lecture them, or give unsolicited advice. Instead, try to simply hold their hand and offer patient presence.
Each of us can learn to fine-tune our awareness, identify triggers, find support, and create a unique plan. We can gently and gradually increase our tolerance for discomfort and learn new skills for the future.
Our life experience provides us with a treasure trove of lessons, knowledge, and successes that we can draw strength from. We can allow the vulnerable parts of ourselves to inform our new life. We can trust the innate wisdom of the body and let our tears to help us heal.