A Tearful Admission

I know it’s hard.

You may feel overwhelmed.

Or attacked. Unfairly accused. Frustrated. Threatened.

And tears may come to your eyes.

They may spill over and leak down your cheeks.

That is okay.

Crying is okay, and is not a signal of weakness.

(Not that there’s a problem with weakness, either. Strength looks different from person to person.)

Emotions aren’t to be judged – they just are what they are, a heart reaction to a moment in time.

Tears can just happen.

And they can be embarrassing in the moment, but they can also release what’s pent up and refresh our hearts and minds.

But.

Sometimes tears happen, and our reaction to them is to use – actually to weaponize – them.

To use them as a tool for avoidance, de-escalation, manipulation.

To grab pity, power, and maybe even to just be let off the hook.

I can see how I used to use my tears.

They would happen … as tears do… but my discomfort with vulnerability would flip the tears into a plea for “peace.”

But that peace was more aligned with avoiding responsibility and my not wanting to have to feel bad.

It was more about being seen as sensitive and a “good guy” and being let off the hook for whatever the situation was.

It was about shifting the power and tossing the ball to the other person so they could “fix” what was broken, and ultimately, amend their relationship to me.

This kind of thing happens all the time in our culture, and it’s not the right thing to do.

Have you ever felt the tears spring, and your mouth automatically cries out, “That’s not what I meant! You’re using my words against me!”

It happens.

Oh, it happens.

But if we can catch our mouth  – that lightning fast need to defend ourselves  – we might recognize our intentions may have been relatively pure, but there was still an impact and we hurt someone. Is this my problem to field or is it something I might need to examine.

What would it be like to pause?

What would it be like to see our tears NOT as a problem for someone else to solve?

If we felt threatened, what if we checked out the accuracy of the situation?

If we felt called out, what if we imagined the other person’s point of view?

If we felt angry, what would it be like to not use those tears to launch an offensive attack or a master class of manipulation, but as a place to reflect and clarify?

What if our tears were just a biological emotional  response?

I try to catch myself these days.

It doesn’t always come naturally. My temper has had years of practice at springing to life and launching tearful counter-attacks.

It takes practice not to weaponize my tears.

To pause.

Tears definitely still come when I’m overwhelmed, or threatened, angry or shook.

My tear ducts have a direct line from my heart, it seems.

But the tears are mine to understand, and to sit with; not yours to field, fix, or cower to.