Episode 9: The Healing Power of Tears - The Language of Crying

Full Transcript: English

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You know, sometimes I think there’s never really a perfect time to start something that matters. I’ve spent weeks …. circling arounds this episode, waiting for a right moment, a burst of energy, or just… some sign that it would flow easily…

And of course, the truth is, there’s no such moment. Sometimes, you just begin, even if you’re unsure, even if you’re behind on your own plans, or feeling awkward, or just a bit tired of your own thoughts.

And that’s a lot like crying, I think. I mean …Tears never show up at the perfect time, do they?

They arrive when they’re ready, when something inside is finally too full to hold in.
And crying---this language of tears---is one of the most important and under-discussed forms of healing I know.
One of the quietest, oldest ways our body speaks.
… and in this episode I would like to go down this path with you …

2.
For me, it’s a language I speak more often than I’d like to admit…
Especially these days, with winter pressing in, and that familiar,
heavy feeling drifting in on the edges, settling in —call it depression, or just low mood, or exhaustion that doesn’t quite have a name.

I find myself crying mostly when I’m alone, and I have a hunch that’s true for many people. Something in us says, “Keep it to yourself.” Maybe to protect others, or maybe to avoid the discomfort that comes from being seen, cracked open, mid-tears…..

It’s odd, isn’t it? Because what I’ve noticed over time is that there are very few people who can hold their own tears well, and even fewer who can be truly present when someone else is crying. Tears are difficult—alone and together….

But here’s what I know for sure: After I cry, something always shifts in my body. I feel lighter, like a knot’s been untied…
Sometimes, I even feel a little embarrassed for how dark it got—but mostly, I feel relief. Crying isn’t necessarily a collapse, it’s a release.
It’s my body finding a way back to itself.

And when I started looking into what actually happens when we cry,
I realized there’s a whole biological story behind those tears.

For instance…..Did you know there are three kinds of tears?
Basal tears—those are the ones that keep our eyes healthy, just always there in the background.
Reflex tears—the kind you get when you cut an onion or get dust in your eye…

3. But then there are emotional tears.
Those are different.
They’re loaded, not just with feeling, but with chemistry.

When we cry for emotional reasons, those tears contain higher levels of stress hormones—cortisol, adrenaline.
And they also carry natural pain relievers—endorphins, leu-enkephalin.
The body is literally pouring out stress and bringing in relief at the same time.
So crying isn’t just some imagined form of stress relief, or wishful thinking that you’ll feel better after
... It’s a biological release valve, a self-soothing system built right in.

And it gets even more interesting: When you cry, your sympathetic nervous system ramps up—you might feel your heart pounding, your breath quickening, your muscles tense. But after a good cry, your parasympathetic system takes over.
That’s the system that helps you settle, rest, recover.
So that post-cry feeling of calm, even if it’s a bit hollow or raw, is real.

The limbic system, which is the part of the brain that handles emotion, actually helps trigger emotional tears — it’s not something we do on purpose, it’s the brain’s own response when things get intense.

And then, after the crying, the vagus nerve — which is like the body’s calming switch — gets to work. It helps slow your heartbeat, settle your body, and that’s a big reason why so many of us feel calmer after a good cry.

So it isn’t just in your imagination — there’s a whole built-in system helping you come back to yourself…

4. Sometimes I wonder why we don’t hear more about this. There’s so little research on emotional tears—

probably because there’s no big profit in it, and not enough people asking the right questions. …

But the few studies that exist ….. show us that tears matter.

They help us regulate. They help us heal.

And maybe that’s why crying feels so necessary, especially in the darkest times. When depression is heavy, when stress is chronic, when words don’t work, tears still do.

For me, they’re a pressure valve—sometimes the only thing that keeps me from being overwhelmed.
Suppressing tears, especially for the sake of others’ comfort, always makes things worse. The stress just builds and builds.

There’s a huge cultural stigma - and isn’t it interesting how that word keeps coming up, not just with crying but with everything to do with mental health?- around crying, especially for adults.
We’re taught that tears are a sign of weakness, or that they’re shameful.
But I see it differently now.
I think real emotional maturity means being able to feel and express sadness—not hiding it just to fit in, or to avoid making others uncomfortable. Some emotions, like regret, envy, guilt, show up more in tears than in words. Tears say what we can’t bring ourselves to say out loud.

For me, tears are a natural release — especially in the evening. They have a kind of honest, pure healing energy. It’s not something I plan or force, it just happens when it needs to
… Sometimes music brings them, sometimes a memory, sometimes just the sense that everything’s been held in too long.

5. And I’m not afraid of tears—mine or others’.
I know I have the capacity to hold vulnerability, even if I sometimes feel embarrassed when crying in front of people who can’t hold it back.

Tears have a spiritual meaning for me, too. They’re like water—cleansing, flowing, moving.

They wash away what’s too heavy to carry, make space for something new.

And there’s something else I find fascinating — the word ‘tear’ in English. The word for crying and the word for ripping apart look exactly the same now, but they actually come from two completely different roots. The ‘tear’ that means crying comes from an old word meaning moisture, a droplet, something that flows. The ‘tear’ that means to rip comes from a word meaning to pull apart, to rupture.

they’ve ended up looking the same—and their meanings kind of overlap, too.

Because when you cry, it’s as if something in you is being torn open, and what’s inside finally has space to flow out and be released.

I can’t help thinking there’s a kind of poetry in that….

6. And all of this makes me wonder: Why is it so hard for people to be present when others cry? Why do tears make us so uncomfortable?
by the way- These were the main questions that kept coming back to me
as I was weaving this episode together….

Part of it is biology.
When we witness tears, our nervous system responds before we even think about it—the amygdala picks up distress, and if we’re not well regulated, we feel overwhelmed.

Sometimes it’s about modeling—most of us were never taught how to respond to tears. There’s pressure to “fix” things, to fill the silence, to make it all stop. That creates anxiety and withdrawal—not because we’re cold, but because we feel helpless or incompetent.

There’s also the social pressure: public crying can feel like a violation of unspoken rules. And deeper still, when we see someone cry, we mirror their vulnerability. It awakens our own pain, old grief, or shame we’ve tried to keep locked away….

For some, witnessing tears brings up too much, so they turn away—not from lack of empathy, but from fear of being flooded by their own past.

But some people—often those who’ve lived through chaos in childhood—develop the rare ability to stay present with tears….

They learned to hold others’ emotions when they were young, and now, that survival skill becomes a kind of strength. It’s not comfort, exactly, but presence born out of necessity.

7. So, here’s where I land:
Tears activate something in both the one who cries and the one who witnesses.
The discomfort isn’t just about the tears; it’s about what gets awakened—memories, vulnerability, learned responses—

all meeting in one raw, unguarded moment.

But I want to remind you—and myself—that even when tears feel like collapse, they’re actually release.
Emotional tears are the body’s way of lowering the pressure inside.

It’s actually a pity that we don’t learn to cry—we learn to stop.
But when we let ourselves cry, something opens. Something gets released. It’s the body’s language when the mind is tired, and it’s one of the oldest ways we know to heal.

So, if you’re crying more lately, if you’re hiding it, or feeling ashamed, know that you’re not alone. There’s nothing weak or broken about it.
Tears are not just water—they’re wisdom. And sometimes, letting yourself cry is the bravest, kindest thing you can do for yourself.