Tears Tell Us What Matters
Tears are commonly called a safety valve.
It makes sense. When we’ve held anger, sadness, or frustration inside for too long, eventually something gives. We spring a leak.
As I mentioned in my last article, my Tuesday questions are never meant to provide an answer as much as extend an invitation. A few days later, I simply offer another perspective for us to sit with together.
Sometimes people respond publicly. Sometimes they quietly carry the question for a few days before sharing it with me in private.
I love both.
There’s never a requirement to answer. The invitation itself is enough.
So why did I choose tears?
Many of you know we packed up nearly our entire home last year, expecting we would sell it.
Instead, we stayed.
Moving back into a house you just moved out of is an oddly beautiful experience. You’re not simply unpacking boxes. You’re rediscovering pieces of your life.
I still have two boxes waiting. (Don’t judge. 😂)
One of them held a package from a friend.
She had written a children’s book, and I had supported her through the crowdfunding campaign. I tucked the package away because I wanted to be settled enough to truly enjoy it.
Nearly a year later, I finally opened it.
As I began to read, tears quietly slipped down my face.
Not because the story was sad.
Not because I was overwhelmed with happiness.
Because it was beautiful.
Because the words felt like they belonged in the heart of every child who would ever hear them.
I found myself praying they would take root.
That they would grow into something strong and kind inside every little soul they touched.
That’s when I realized something.
The tears weren’t asking for relief.
They were responding to truth.
Art has a way of reaching places that ordinary conversation can’t. It slips past our defenses and finds the tender places we’ve forgotten were there.
The tears simply let us know we’d arrived.
The more I thought about it, the more examples surfaced.
Watching a woman rise after believing she couldn’t.
Seeing someone’s confidence bloom.
Sitting with a friend as she sends her daughter across the country for college—holding pride, grief, excitement, and love all at once.
Unexpectedly witnessing a military procession.
Trying not to cry while your sister says something that gently touches a place you’ve carried for years.
None of those moments fit neatly into one emotion.
They aren’t simply sadness.
They’re evidence that something meaningful is moving through us.
We often associate tears with pain.
Sometimes they are.
But sometimes they’re appreciation.
Sometimes they’re awe.
Sometimes they’re compassion.
Sometimes they’re the soul recognizing something the mind hasn’t yet put into words.
I also wonder if many of us have built dams around our emotions.
Not because we wanted to.
Because somewhere along the way we learned it was safer to stay composed. Strong. Unshaken.
We became protectors.
Survivors.
But water wasn’t meant to sit still.
When water has nowhere to flow, it becomes stagnant.
If we never allow ourselves to feel, express, grieve, celebrate, or be deeply moved…
What happens inside us?
Perhaps tears aren’t weakness at all.
Perhaps they’re movement.
Perhaps they’re one of the ways life reminds us we’re still wonderfully, beautifully alive.
One woman shared that parades always make her cry, though she couldn’t explain why.
I smiled.
There are a thousand threads we could follow from that single sentence.
That’s the beauty of curiosity.
The tears themselves aren’t always the story.
They’re often pointing toward one.
