Release is powerful.

About once a week I feel like I’m going to completely lose it. It starts in my face. Tension in my chin, warming my cheeks, my lips quiver choking down the tears, fighting for peace of mind. I don’t always know where it comes from, but I know my trauma, my sadness. I know what I’m holding in. 


I also know all the benefits of crying. I preach balance! Tears literally release stress hormones. Crying is factually good for us. But when it comes down to it, I fight the tears and “power through.” I mask my pain, holding on to it, keeping it within me. 


I’m ready to let go. To not be so afraid to cry. Change my perception of power and take on the true meaning of well-being. Am I worried I can’t handle the outpour of emotions I’ve bottled up and kept control of? Are they really even in my control if I feel at the verge of explosion? I suffer from physical pain in my body because of holding in my emotions. Sure, I might have created more moments of what felt like strength when I got through those urges to breakdown, but overall, I’ve created more hurt than if I had just let it out in that moment. Why is it that I fight so hard against my own tears?


Crying can disguise itself to feel powerless. Like surrendering to my emotions. As if sadness would ever be my preferred emotion, crying could never be my choice. Who wants to cry? But who wants to drown? Bottled up with emotions, levels rising and no release. That can’t possibly be what’s most satisfying. I will run out of air! Faking a smile is temporary. It can get me through responsibilities and to an extent, everyday activities, but it won’t help me grow. It’s not a source of release. It’s a way of getting by. Surviving but not living. What is life without feeling? 


So when I feel like skipping the tears, “choosing happiness” over what’s coming to surface, I’ll remember this. I’ll remember to be proud of myself for allowing my emotions to flow naturally. No faking, no convincing. Just being. Releasing. Giving room to take more in. My bottle may never be completely emptied, the death of my brother is a kind of pain I can’t remove. But I can clear some space. Let feelings flow. It’s life. The tears and the smiles. The darkness and the light. I need it all to truly live. Just as a deep breath fills my lungs and releases out into the world, a system that refreshes me. Crying makes room for clarity. Room to breathe. Room to move freely.