Vulnerable tears of laughter and sadness

I laugh silently. My wife (Tina) and I were travelling with a somewhat frightening driver who seemed more concerned with our entertainment than our safety. He regaled us with quips and stories until our sides hurt. Sitting behind him, I saw him look to Tina to see how she was responding (and silently wished he would have as much concern for the cars on either side of us). He couldn’t easily see me and would never have known that I also was laughing if Tina had not told. There was a smile on my face and tears were running down my cheeks, but there was no sound of laughter to give me away. I was laughing and having a good time but he was none the wiser until her visual confirmation gave evidence of my silent joy.

My sad tears are equally silent. When some unruly tears somehow breach the limits I set for them, they come less like a rushing river and more like a quiet stream. My brow and my heart are creased with deep furrows; donning my mask of resolute stillness, I attempt to hide them all. Even wiping away the tears is too much acknowledgement of their presence and the presence of my sadness; I let them course soundlessly downward until they fall from my chin and land peacefully on my chest.

Restrained in volume and voice, my tears of laughter and sadness flow like still waters to cleanse my body and my soul.

Body

Judging by tear production alone, we literally never stop crying. We produce 2 microliters of basal tears every minute (not even a drop in a bucket) that continually provide lubrication, protection, and nutrients to our eyes. When the occasional gnat lands in our eye, we ramp up production of reflexive tears to wash it away. Like basal tears, they are full of electrolytes, proteins and lipids. We seldom think of or conceal either of these types of tears.

Emotional tears are a different animal. In addition to the chemicals found in our other tears, emotional tears also contain hormones, neuropeptides, and neurotransmitters. Some of these substances help to regulate our emotions by softening our fight or flight response. They slow our heart rate and decrease our blood pressure as we get back to “normal.” It turns out that our tears are not only a response to our emotions; they also release chemicals to moderate our emotional response.

Our tears don’t only impact our own bodies physically; they also regulate the emotions of others. When a woman cries in the presence of a man, the man responds by producing less testosterone and therefore responds with less aggression. My takeaway? Crying doesn’t make a man less “manly” – but the tears of a woman may! My wrestling coach used to quip, “Women weaken legs.” That is more true than either of us knew! But our own tears as men (or women!) don’t weaken us. To the contrary, our tears calms us – body, heart, and soul – and allows us to respond compassionately to others.

Soul

Given all the ways that our tears protect our eyes, flush out chemicals associated with sadness and fear, and signal to each other our need for compassion and gentleness, we might be inclined to say, “Open the floodgates! Let’s all have a good cry and make the world a better place!” But our souls are more timid than that. We cry silently when we don’t want others to see what is happening inside our hearts. Feeling vulnerable, we protect ourselves by covering up our tears.

For a time, my tears came regularly during worship. Sitting alone in the pews of the church I used to lead, whenever we would sing of heaven, my tears of longing began to flow. I left that church not because it was too hard for me but because I thought it might be too hard for them as they searched for my replacement. The tears came with me. The new church had a darker worship space than made it easier to hide my tears. As I cried in the dark, I imagined that my children sitting with me were thankful that the steady stream of silent tears were drowned out by the sights and sounds of worship.

When I later began working as a chaplain, I would respond to the tears of men experiencing grief of many kinds by saying, “It takes a strong man to cry.” Now, I would prefer to say it takes a courageous man to cry. A courageous man is one who can face his emotions, acknowledge the fear of the unknown and the fear that people will be caught off guard by his tears and let them flow just the same. It takes courage to face our fears and overcome them. As in the rest of life, exercising that courage benefits us and those around us.

And yet…

I still cry infrequently and silently. I’m OK with that. My tears are consistent with my quiet personality and are expressed consistently throughout the range of emotions I encounter. While still somewhat restrained, I’m learning to be freer with my laughter and my tears of sadness because I’m coming to realize that my tears don’t just serve to soothe the savage beast within my chest; they also serve to soothe others around me and to let them know that I am present and I am human.