A Case for Crying

The smell of earth filled every gasping breath as I slid face-first across the ground; muddy ooze flowing over the face mask of my bulky football helmet. Where did he even come from? At 12 years old I was 75 lbs and only chest high to the majority of kids my age. And though I lived in the shadows of my peers, I was nimble and fast, now in my fourth year as a starting running back in our youth football league— two years for the Steelers and now in my final year with the Falcons. But this was it, I knew I was too small to play for the junior high team next year and this promised to be my last game in the sport.

I wanted so badly to play well, to lead our team to victory. But the Cardinals were big…so big. Every hit hurt and every effort frustrated. The call was “tailback sweep to the right.” That was me—as we lined up I assessed the field and it looked to be a good call, plenty of room to run fast and wide. “Hut-hut,” the pitch leading me perfectly as I sprinted quick and light towards the sideline, gently making the turn up field. And there it was…a clear view with an open lane—50 yards all the way to the end zone. My cleats bit tight, every stride propelling me forward… finally, I had broken free, I was fina—BOOM!—my feet no longer touching the earth, now only groping at the air. We flew together, my giant and me, his huge form enveloping me like a crashing wave. We slid together, him now surfing my back as my face mask plowed the mud, filling my teeth with grit. It didn’t hurt, I felt no pain, but tears immediately filled my eyes, and my face distorted defying my efforts to restrain my sobs as I stood.

We had slid right into my team’s bench and my coach was right there, “Are you hurt David?” I wasn’t hurt, I was angry…not at the player who tackled me, but angry that I was small, that I was weak, that my body would not and could not rise to the level of my desire. That tackle declared that this would in fact be my last game. I instinctively grabbed my left forearm, “Yes (sob), I think his helmet hit my arm.”

Building a Case for Crying

I hated that I had lied, especially because it resulted in me being taken out of the game for the rest of that series and the Cardinals’ next effort on offense. But what was I supposed to say? I was sad, disappointed, and frustrated— emotionally overwhelmed that my best effort was not enough. I felt shame for crying for reasons too complex to explain. Crying for such a big and dramatic hit, on the other hand, seemed justifiable— the guys would understand that, I think.

Coach put me back in the game and we continued to flounder. Towards the end of the game, our quarterback Chris was sacked for a big loss…again. As we gathered in preparation for the next play, Chris stepped into the huddle calling out the next play through uninhibited tears and sobs. Someone asked, “Chris, are you ok?” “Yes (sob), yes I’ll be fine, I’m just frustrated (sob).” Someone, now obviously inspired, cheered, “C’mon guys, let’s keep trying!” Time stopped for me…wait, what just happened?

Tears of Vulnerability

Though I would not have been able to put it into words then, what was and remains so striking to me is the honesty with which Chris was able to express such vulnerable emotion in the present tense—voice cracking and tears flowing. Imagine if Chris would have returned to the huddle, looked around, and stoically stated, “Ok, that was frustrating.” In that case, it would have been no more than information sharing—an objective observation of the circumstantial fact that was no doubt quite obvious to all.

But physical expressions of emotion, when sincere, are truly non-voluntary and in many circumstances insuppressible— a smile, frown, scowl or gasp, laugh or cry…and then tears— with no obvious physiologic reason they flow with any of the extremes of happiness, sadness or anger. Each of these expressions serves as a means towards intimacy, an invitation to those around you to know and share in how you are doing right now, not yesterday or last month, but right now.

Smiling and laughing come easy and are generally accepted as communicating stability, health and wellness and are open doors to relationships. Their shadow side is that they can be worn as masks, hiding true feelings of anxiety, fear, or sadness. The scowls, body tension, and tone of voice associated with anger tend to communicate some sense of personal injustice. For that reason, anger is often expressed from a perceived position of strength or power. Though anger can certainly be expressed kindly and justly, anger is more often an emotion that is expressed AT someone rather than WITH someone. The result is that people tend to recoil or withdraw creating relational distance.

A Deeply Telling Emotion

But what about crying? What is it about crying that feels so vulnerable? Though crying can be an expression of joy, we most often associate it with sadness or sorrow. Sorrow is that feeling of deep distress caused by loss, disappointment or other misfortune suffered by oneself or others.* The circumstances that stir sadness to reveal the deepest concerns of our heart, and expose most clearly who we are at our core—our hopes, our dreams, our core beliefs about who we are and how life should be. Crying is a visible declaration of that personal disappointment or distress and an immediate, intended or otherwise, an invitation to intimacy. Obviously, crying can be provoked in circumstances of varying degrees of consequence— a movie, a reunion story, a skinned knee, a friend moving away, a child leaving home, a broken relationship, a lost job, regret, the death of a loved one. But no matter the circumstance, our tears reveal something intimate about ourselves and that feels vulnerable because it is either something that we don’t want others to know about us or that we personally feel that we should not be feeling.

Too often and for too long we have identified crying as weakness, juvenile or, as it concerns men, that crying is feminine. For this reason, crying will often invoke shame; the shame I knew on the football field all those years ago and that I have wrestled with over the many decades to follow. But through many years of marriage, parenting, business and patient care, I have come to agree with the writer of Ecclesiastes when he solemnly declares, “What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is no new thing under the sun.” Though many variations and life expressions, there is a commonality among us all with respect to our deepest longings, hopes, and beliefs, and there is certainly none in this life who escapes disappointment. For this reason, crying is less an expression of our weakness as it is an opportunity for creating bonds of relational unity, strength, care, and inspiration.

While I am still learning, I have certainly cried more in the past 5 years than in the 50 that preceded. All I can say is that I was really missing out. So Chris, thank you for your example of courage and strength that day; it has stayed with me a lifetime. And coach, no, I wasn’t hurt…just really frustrated and disappointed, but thank you for caring for me anyway.

*Oxford English Dictionary