There’s nothing like the sweet release of a good cry.
During lockdown, from the comfort of home, I let my tears fall at the slightest thing – and it felt good.
Pregnant for most of the first lockdown, with work to do and a toddler to entertain, I found myself shedding buckets unexpectedly.
At first it made me feel weak – ashamed that I wasn’t coping – but as the pandemic wore on, I took advantage of the privacy to weep.
It didn’t take much to set me off: power struggles with my eldest son – Greg, then two – making and remaking meals that he’d actually eat, anxious thoughts about giving birth alone… all against a backdrop of doom scrolling on Twitter while my pregnancy hormones raged.
‘Are you crying again?’, my husband teased affectionately, his comforting arm around my shoulder. I’ve never regretted letting him know how I feel.
Every week, during Clap for Carers, sharing the enormity of what was happening with our neighbours made me emotional but I never showed it to them. The idea of near-strangers seeing my tears felt mortifying.
Yet, behind closed doors, I started to make time for ‘cry breaks’ – I’d feel lighter for releasing the stress.
My usual outlets were banned – either by the government or because my caffeine and alcohol intake were massively reduced and nil thanks to pregnancy.
So in lieu of a coffee date, gig or a girls’ night out, a little sob became my self care.
I didn’t just cry as an outlet for my frustration, I shed plenty of tears of joy too.
Love engulfed me when I watched Greg absorbed in playtime, I adored having the time to take in beautiful, ordinary moments of togetherness.
But with no playgroups, libraries, parks or soft play to break up the monotony of caring for a preschooler I was bone-achingly exhausted.
It felt impossibly sad to tell him we had to stay away from friends and family. So, I didn’t. Instead, I snuggled him in cosy blankets, made hot chocolates and sobbed secretly into his sandy hair.
Then on 22 September 2020, Finn, our second son, arrived. Having a newborn felt like our own lockdown while the world around us was opening up at last.
After a couple of weeks, we took our first shopping trip as a family of four to TK-Maxx.
I thought I’d be thrilled to be interacting with society again but I found the adjustment overwhelming.
And my routine of having a lovely cry at any time suddenly felt inappropriate.
The kids started getting fractious and by the time we reached the sanitising station at the door I was sweaty, Finn was screaming, my mask felt claustrophobic and my blood pressure was rising.
I was trying hard to keep my cool until I squirted the alcohol gel and it shot past my hand and into Greg’s eye. He wailed.
Everyone looking on in judgement, unable to hold my anguish, I burst into noisy tears, too.
‘I want to go home!’ I sobbed to my husband.
‘For God’s sake,’ a young bloke in the queue muttered loudly which made me even more self-conscious.
Marching back to the car, I was embarrassed to have made a scene in public – I had never cried openly like that before.
Once my tears dried up, though, I felt the same inner calm that I did at home. The release was just as satisfying and essential.
I just felt ashamed doing it in front of strangers instead of a trusted loved one.
It got me thinking – why are we so wary of showing our emotions when it’s good for us?
Some studies say crying improves our health, allowing us to release stress and mental anguish.
A 2019 YouGov poll found six in 10 Brits describe themselves as being ‘reserved’ and according to a 2016 study by Associate Professor Niels Van de Ven and colleagues from Tilburg University, weeping women are perceived societally as ‘less competent’.
Their study tested how over 1,000 participants responded to images of people with tears rolling down their cheeks and criers – male and female – were judged more harshly when they broke down at work.
Of course tears aren’t always appropriate in a work setting but I want to bring my boys up knowing their emotions are important and crying isn’t shameful.
I have rarely seen people cry at work or on the streets and I fear many people are suffering silently.
Our collective mental health is at risk as the financial and social effects of the pandemic will be felt for a long time.
The Office of National Statistics reports that the proportion of adults showing symptoms of depression has almost doubled since the start of the pandemic.
Post-pandemic attitudes in society need to change to allow us to release our heavy feelings from the last 18 months.
Allowing my tears to fall freely during lockdown has benefitted me enormously – I feel calmer, more content and in control. I strongly believe we should normalise crying in public for everyone’s sake.
My weepy moments are helping me to manage my emotional load and I shouldn’t feel contrite about it.
Crying regularly stabilises my mood and is much healthier than turning to booze or other damaging coping mechanisms. Yet, I feel the response to my tears from strangers would be more loaded with judgement than if I poured a glass of wine.
I know I am not alone in feeling emotionally burnt out by this pandemic, friends have confided in me that they feel similarly.
Going forward, I hope the shared experience of feeling anxious about Covid-19 can make us all more empathetic to each other’s internal struggles.
These are divisive times with differing views on vaccines, mask-wearing and our freedoms.
While extending kindness and understanding towards everyone else, we should cut ourselves some slack too and cry when we want to.
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