Is It Okay to Cry? Why I Can’t Stop Holding Back Tears
“Tears are the silent language of grief.” — Voltaire
I spent most of my life believing that crying meant I was losing control.
That if I let myself break down, I’d fall apart completely and never be able to put myself back together. That tears were something to hide, something to be ashamed of—evidence that I wasn’t strong enough, brave enough, healed enough.
So I held them back. For years. Decades, even.
My throat would get tight. My chest would ache. My eyes would burn. But I’d swallow it down, blink it back, hold it in. Because crying felt dangerous. Vulnerable. Weak.
Maybe you know exactly what I’m talking about.
Maybe you’ve been told your whole life that tears are a problem. That “real men don’t cry.” That you’re “too sensitive” or “too emotional.” That if you just toughen up, calm down, or get it together, you wouldn’t need to cry at all.
Here’s what I’ve learned, both in my own healing and in walking alongside others through theirs: crying isn’t a breakdown—it’s a breakthrough.
Those tears you’ve been holding back? They’re not weakness. They’re your body’s wisest response to being human.
Let me show you what’s really happening when we cry—and why those tears might be the most powerful healing tool you have.
What Society Got Wrong About Tears
Most of us grew up learning that tears are something to hide.
For men especially, the message was brutal: Real men don’t cry. Crying meant you were weak, too sensitive, out of control. Boys were told to “toughen up,” to “be a man,” to push feelings down and keep moving forward. Tears became something shameful—a sign you couldn’t handle pressure, couldn’t protect your family, couldn’t be trusted to lead.
And for women? Tears were dismissed as being “too emotional” or “overreacting.” Either you were crying too much or not crying at the “right” times. Your tears were inconvenient, manipulative, or proof you couldn’t handle things rationally.
The cost of these beliefs? Devastating.
Men carry stress in silence until it erupts as anger, addiction, or illness. They’ve been cut off from one of the body’s primary release valves. Depression, anxiety, heart disease—so much of what destroys men can be traced back to emotions that were never allowed to move.
Women learn to apologize for their tears, to minimize their pain, to perform strength even when they’re drowning inside.
And all of us—regardless of gender—end up carrying what was never meant to be carried alone.
Here’s the deeper truth: when we shame people for crying, we’re telling them their humanity is a problem. We’re saying connection, vulnerability, and emotional honesty are weaknesses instead of what they actually are—strengths.
The strongest people I know aren’t the ones who never cry. They’re the ones who’ve learned to feel fully, to let those emotions move through them, and to come out the other side more whole.
Not All Tears Are the Same
Here’s something fascinating: scientists have discovered we produce three different kinds of tears.
Basal tears keep our eyes lubricated and healthy.
Reflex tears flush out irritants like dust or smoke.
Emotional tears fall when your heart can’t hold anymore—grief, pain, overwhelm, even joy.
And here’s where it gets incredible: emotional tears have a completely different chemical composition. They carry stress hormones like cortisol out of your body. They contain natural painkillers like leucine enkephalin.
Your body is literally releasing what’s hurting you when you cry.
Think about that. The very thing we’ve been taught to suppress is actually designed to heal us.
God built this into your body. This isn’t a design flaw—it’s a design feature. Even Jesus wept. The shortest verse in the Bible—”Jesus wept”—is also one of the most powerful. He didn’t suppress His grief. He didn’t perform strength. He felt fully, and He let it show.
If the Son of God wasn’t too strong to cry, what makes us think we are?
What Really Happens When You Cry
When emotion finally breaks through, your entire body responds:
Your nervous system resets. Crying activates your parasympathetic nervous system—the part that helps you rest, digest, and recover from stress. It’s your body’s way of coming back home to safety after being in survival mode.
Your hormones rebalance. Through tears, you’re releasing cortisol and other stress chemicals that have been flooding your system. You’re literally detoxifying.
Your breathing changes. Those deep, shaky sobs? They’re therapeutic. That alternating pattern of inhale and exhale is bringing your body back into balance, just like breathwork or meditation.
Your muscles let go. Ever notice how tight your chest feels before you cry—and how much softer everything feels after? Tears release physical tension you didn’t even know you were carrying.
Crying is your body’s built-in reset button. It’s a full-body exhale after holding too much for too long.
If you’ve experienced trauma—especially if you survived by shutting down your emotions—your body might have forgotten how to cry. Or maybe you cry at unexpected times, and it feels out of control. Both responses make sense. Your nervous system is just trying to find its way back to safety. And sometimes, tears are how it gets there.
The Sacred Work of Tears
Beyond the biology, there’s something deeper happening.
Tears are the language your soul speaks when words aren’t enough. They’re how your body says, This matters. This hurts. This is real.
Crying helps your brain process what’s been stuck—grief that hasn’t moved, pain that hasn’t had permission, relief that couldn’t find its way out. That’s why you feel lighter afterward. Clearer. Like something shifted.
The Psalms are full of tears. David wept. Hannah wept. Jeremiah was called “the weeping prophet.” These weren’t weak people—they were people brave enough to feel the full weight of what they were carrying and honest enough to let it show.
And when you cry in front of someone safe? That’s when the real magic happens.
Tears invite connection. They say, See me. Hold space for this. That shared moment of raw honesty is healing all on its own.
We weren’t meant to carry everything alone. Tears remind us of that.
Why You Might Be Holding Back
If you find yourself unable to cry even when you want to, there are a few things that might be happening:
You learned it wasn’t safe. Maybe tears got you punished, mocked, or dismissed. Your body learned to shut them down to protect you.
You’re afraid of what will happen if you start. You worry that if you let yourself cry, you’ll never stop. That you’ll lose control. That you’ll be swallowed by the grief.
You’re still in survival mode. Trauma can freeze your emotions. When your nervous system is focused on just getting through the day, tears feel like a luxury you can’t afford.
You’re carrying shame. You’ve internalized the message that crying is weak, childish, or attention-seeking. So you hold it in to avoid judgment—even when you’re alone.
Here’s what I want you to know: those tears are still there. They’re just waiting for permission. Waiting for safety. Waiting for you to believe that it’s okay to feel what you feel.
And it is. It’s more than okay. It’s necessary.
How to Let Yourself Cry
If you’ve been holding back tears for years, letting them out might feel foreign. Here’s how to start:
Find a safe space. A quiet room. Your car. Even the shower. Somewhere you can let whatever’s inside move freely without worrying about being interrupted or judged.
Give yourself permission. Say it out loud if you need to: “It’s okay to cry. My tears are healing me.”
Don’t rush it. Let the tears come in waves. Let your body do what it needs to do. You might cry for five minutes or fifty. Both are okay.
Breathe afterward. Take a few slow, deep breaths. Notice how different your body feels—often softer, slower, lighter.
Be gentle with yourself. You just completed one of your body’s oldest healing rituals. You don’t need to analyze it or explain it. You just need to honor it.
And if you still can’t cry? That’s okay too. Sometimes our bodies need other forms of release first—movement, sound, art, writing. The tears will come when they’re ready.
A Word to the Men Reading This
Your tears don’t make you less of a man. They make you human. They make you brave.
The world doesn’t need you to be stone. It needs you to be whole.
I know you’ve been taught that crying is weakness. That men who feel too much can’t be trusted to lead, to protect, to provide. But that’s a lie designed to keep you isolated and hurting.
The truth is this: vulnerability is not the opposite of strength. It’s the foundation of it.
When you allow yourself to feel—really feel—you’re not losing control. You’re reclaiming it. You’re saying, “I’m not afraid of my humanity. I’m not ashamed of my heart.”
That takes more courage than any mask of toughness ever could.
So if you need to cry, cry. Let those tears do their holy work. And know that on the other side of them, you’ll be more of the man you were created to be—not less.
A Word to Anyone Who’s Been Told They’re “Too Emotional”
Your sensitivity is not a flaw. It’s a gift. It’s how you stay connected to what’s real.
You’re not broken for feeling deeply. You’re not too much. You’re not overreacting.
You’re just alive. Fully, beautifully, messily alive.
And those tears? They’re proof that your heart still works. That trauma didn’t destroy your capacity to feel. That you’re still here, still fighting, still becoming.
Don’t apologize for them. Don’t minimize them. Don’t let anyone convince you that feeling is weakness.
Your tears are doing holy work—cleansing, releasing, renewing, restoring.
Final Thought
So next time emotion rises up, don’t shove it down. Let it flow.
Your tears are not a sign of breaking. They’re a sign of breaking through.
They’re not evidence that you’re losing it. They’re evidence that you’re finding your way back to yourself.
Crying isn’t weakness. It’s courage. It’s healing. It’s your body’s way of saying, I’m still here. I’m still feeling. I’m still becoming whole.
And that? That’s the strongest thing you can do.
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