David White, MD
My work as a physician affords me the great privilege of being invited into the most intimate emotional spaces of people’s lives. Often, that invitation is inadvertently extended to me in the course of a conversation. Something honest is stirred and in direct betrayal of the will’s intent, the eyes shift downward, tears well up and then spill out exposing the real self. Nearly without fail, whether male or female, two words are immediately uttered by that person—“I’m sorry.”
Why would anyone apologize for crying? Is it really offensive? Of course not, but crying is a profoundly vulnerable and intimate expression. I believe that the overtly physical nature of crying is by design and specifically intended to connect people relationally. The contorted face, tears and heaving sobs are all recognizable and mesmerizing. Even when someone is crying across the room we can’t help but ask, ”I wonder what’s going on over there?” It is all the more engaging if it is happening right in front of you! Laughter, smiles and frowns can certainly be spontaneous expressions of honest emotion too, but they are more generally “offered” as a transient expression toward another as either an affirmation or for the purpose of intentional connection. Crying, on the other hand, is more like an unveiling; an intimate exposure of who we really are.
This kind of vulnerability is clearly risky and it is understandable why we would be inclined to guard against untimely exposure. But why would so many feel obligated to apologize for crying when it comes on those unexpected occasions? I would offer that while there is no universal truth about why women or men apologize for crying, it is my experience there are two identifiable patterns among the genders. Women more readily recognize the relational nature of crying and tend to apologize for such an intimate imposition on the other person. It is as if to say, “I’m sorry for putting you in a position to now have to enter into this mess and respond.” The reality around them, however, is that loneliness abounds and people are desperate for meaningful relationships. We have grown accustomed to accepting counterfeit intimacy perpetuated by our emoji culture. “I’m sending thoughts your way (just don’t send too many back) and oh look, a crying emoji to show I care.” It’s effortless, quick and clean, but ultimately detached and empty.
The apology coming from men, on the other, is primarily tied to shame. Crying is believed to communicate weakness, and when witnessed, it is an affirmation of one’s own inadequacy. “What the heck is wrong with me?” “I’m sorry you have to see me like this… I’m not usually like this.” This defense is often perpetuated from childhood where boys fight to avoid accusations of “crying like a girl,” or being a crybaby, coward or sissy. A rock and a firm foundation—isn’t that what our families and friends need us to be? Perhaps, and yet fathers remain desperate to know their sons; and sons desperate to know their fathers.
I have become more curious about crying in that I seem to becoming quite adept at it. Without a doubt, I have cried more in the past 6 years than the 45 that went before, and I see no signs of slowing. Perhaps it is that I am finally caring less about what I’m supposed to be and discovering who I really am. Or maybe I’ve known who I am but have previously been ashamed. Or perhaps it is linked to my heightened sense of vulnerability as Jen and I have released our sons into the world. Hurt, fear, regret, loss of control…and joy. Yes, I cry for joy also. It also seems that my defenses against crying in front of others have been coming down. First with my wife, then a friend, then my sons, even a patient. This has not only been a more full and honest expression of who I am, but has opened the door to knowing others and being known by others. Crying, in a sense, serves as a gateway. I also believe it to be immensely therapeutic.
So yes, it is personally risky to be known. But if you will be known, be known for who you really are—your beauty, your humor, your strength, your insight—but also your fear, your frailty and your need. This is who you are. Cry and don’t apologize for it.
