What is it when tears well up and leak from us during moments of great emotion?
And why are we so uncomfortable with this natural, biological function?
I recently had cause to cry a lot, sometimes in public, and I was surprised by the reaction of those around me. An adult crying evokes a response in strangers that can be both awkward and inappropriate.
During my moment of trauma, I cried and wailed. A stranger who was nearby approached me and asked if she could give me a hug. I said no. My pain was my own, and even in my distraught state, sharing it with a stranger seemed oddly inappropriate.
I don’t believe the woman’s response to me was aberration. On the rare occasions when we encounter an adult crying, we tend to interpret their tears as a sign of distress. We want to help. We want to help stop the tears. We can barely stand the sight of strangers – much less loved ones – shedding tears.
But why the awkwardness? Why the concern? Why the wish to make it stop?
Certainly our culture deserves some of the blame. We’re reminded constantly that “big boys don’t cry,” and “don’t be a crybaby.” For political leaders and sports heroes, tears often are interpreted as a sign of weakness, closely reported by the media.
Perhaps part of our problem with crying is that we call it by the wrong name. Most adults don’t cry. They weep. There’s a difference.
To describe all instances of shedding tears as “crying” is to misuse the word and to neglect “weeping,” a more accurate word less loaded with baggage that makes the same behavior more acceptable. We should use it.
Mr. Webster would agree. Webster’s New World affirms this. Its first definition of “cry” is “to make a loud, vocal sound or utterance; call out, as for help, shout.” To weep, on the other hand, is “to manifest or give expression to a strong emotion, usually grief or sorrow, by crying, wailing, or, esp., shedding tears.”
In a general sense, crying is about wanting. It’s what infants do when they’re hungry or what tykes do when they’re denied a toy or a treat. Weeping evolves out of loving. It’s about a hurt or a joy that comes to an exposed heart, a pain or a happiness that cannot be processed without the natural medicine of tears.
There have been days in the past few months when I’ve wept, and more when I have not. I’ve done much better on days I shed tears. It’s difficult to explain. For pain, tears work as a psychic salve. They make us feel better. Perhaps in some way they wash the wound of sorrow, preventing infection. “A good cry” is a real thing.
But shame is still attached to weeping, particularly in public.
During a recent suicide survivors support group meeting in rural Pennsylvania, a middle-age widow who worked in customer service spoke about her emotional self-care. She said she didn’t have the luxury of taking a work break every time she was overcome with grief about her husband’s death. “I just cry right there at the cash register and if a customer has a problem with that, that’s just too bad,” she said.
It was a great statement about her right to weep.
The problem here is clearly not with the person shedding tears. That’s a natural, spontaneous and understandable behavioral response to life’s overpowering moments. The rub is the awkwardness felt by others and a reluctance by the person needing to weep to make others feel awkward.
Maybe it’s time for a campaign to normalize public weeping, like a similar campaign a few years ago to remove the stigma of public breast-feeding. Try this: If you see an adult weeping, be happy for them. Let them be. They are self-medicating. They are getting what they need, and most likely they will be feeling better soon.