The Beauty of Tears
How I’ve made peace with my weepiness
by Camerin Courtney
I admit I’m a weepy woman. I’ve been known to cry not just at friends’ divorces, relatives’ miscarriages, and my grandma’s funeral, but also at airport reunions, Hallmark Hall of Fame made-for-TV movies, breakup ballads, and long-distance telephone carrier commercials.
I used to feel sheepish about my weepiness. When I’d laugh so hard tears streamed down my face, friends would stare, confused, and ask, “Why are you crying?” The first time I cried in front of one college boyfriend, he looked at me as if I had three heads and oh-so-helpfully asked, “What am I supposed to do now?” A former roommate would quietly escape the room whenever my phone conversations included tears.
All these experiences left me feeling a bit like an overemotional freak. So I donned my daily coats of waterproof mascara, kept my secret stash of Kleenex at the ready, and tried my best to hide my tearfulness from the world.
That is, until I realized how beautiful tears can be.
I learned this invaluable lesson through a few instances when I simply couldn’t hide my tears. First was running into a former coworker who’d moved away. In the time since I’d last seen Mary Ellen, her dad had died suddenly. And way too soon. I hadn’t expected to see Mary Ellen the day I did, so I wasn’t prepared with carefully chosen words of comfort and bereavement. Overcome with the pain this young woman must have been feeling, I simply said, “Your dad …” as my eyes filled with tears.
I expected my friend to grow uncomfortable, as others have at the sight of my tears. Instead, my emotional display seemed to comfort Mary Ellen; relieve her almost. After a few wordless moments she said, “Thank you for your tears.” I got the impression she’d been all cried out for some time and appreciated someone else shedding a few more tears for her. And I’m pretty sure my tears communicated an empathy my words could never have captured.
Years later, sitting on my counselor’s couch, I began talking about a family member when I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I tried to keep talking and will my tears away, but my counselor made me stop. “What’s triggering your tears?” she asked. And as I fumbled for an answer, I stumbled upon unresolved issues I hadn’t even known were there. Armed with this new knowledge, I had a tough but needed conversation with that family member. Together we found healing, better communication, and a closer relationship. All because my tears had alerted me to unfinished business, as they have on other counseling visits since.
Recently I met a fellow single friend for coffee on a Saturday afternoon. As we sat at an outside table, sipping and soaking in the gorgeous fall day, Staci tentatively told me about a new guy—one who didn’t share her faith in Christ. “I shouldn’t be going down this road,” she confessed, “but I can’t help myself. I know I'm going to get hurt, but it’s just so wonderful to be liked.” As she talked about being torn, her eyes leaked out her confusion and frustration.
We sat in silence for a few moments, her fragile predicament perched on the table between us. As I told her how glad I was someone had noticed her greatness and how I wished he got all of what’s great about her (including her faith), I realized afresh that being entrusted with friends’ tears is a gift. Over the years, as friends have spilled their hurts and tears out to me, several fellow weepers have apologized for the “display.” My answer is always the same: There’s no need to apologize for tears in my presence. In fact, I feel privileged to have friends be that real with me. To cry with them, as I’m prone to do. To then be that real with them. Nothing seems to remove shiny, happy Christian masks and bond two women together quite like shared tears. And as such, tears serve as an invitation to a deeper level of friendship.
I certainly know the downside of tears as well. I’ve weathered seasons of depression when tears overwhelmed me, invading my life at the most inopportune moments. But even then, my tears tipped me off that something was wrong—that I needed help. Through all these experiences, I’ve come to appreciate how tears alert, relieve, cleanse, communicate, bond, encourage, and invite. And I’ve come to see my abundance of tears not as an embarrassing burden, but as a gift. Specially chosen for God’s more emotionally and empathetically wired daughters.
Thanks to this understanding of the beauty and fullness of tears, I find among my favorite Scriptures John 11:35, “Jesus wept.” So few words, so much meaning. Before Jesus acted to alleviate his friends’ pain, he felt it, communicated his compassion with tears, and made sure the instance was noted for you and me to read all these years later. Especially for those of us who are weepy. An act of compassion that moves me to tears.
