At work, we have hired a couple student workers to call down a list of people and ask them to take the survey they've been sent. (I applaud these workers - I couldn't do it!) One of them just came out of the office with tears on her face, asking how she'll ever handle being a counselor. As it turns out, she got ahold of a woman who just lost her husband, and our student worker got to listen to this lady's story. By the end, they were both in tears. I understand. I, too, have spoken with recent widows and widowers who have shared with me their stories. Whether they are calling to donate their late spouse's books, or needing to update our records, they call. They have to relive their pain. They tell it again.
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Over the summer, my team quickly learned that I cry. A lot. In fact, by the last sessions, they were all waiting for me to start crying. There was a mutually acknowledged moment when I did start crying (it didn't take very long) and we all laughed. I have rarely apologized for crying. I have, however, warned people it was coming. When I meet a new group who I know will get to experience the waterworks, I typically give them a PSA something along the lines of "crying is normal in my house. It's not an event: it's kinda like breathing." Eventually, they believe me. But this summer was different. By the end of the summer, more than one person told me that one of the greatest gifts I had offered the group was my tears. Not my humility (ha!). Not my servant heart (my heart needed some serious surgery this summer). My tears. Apparently, me crying showed others what crying can look like. I wouldn't have known that was a need. Growing up, I had heard my mom share that she had been thanked for crying. Though I didn't really get it, somehow I grasped that crying is ok. This summer, I learned that my tears invite others to be allowed to feel. They open the gates. They invite others to a place of acknowledging pain and struggle. Through tears, I could reframe vulnerability as a strength, not a weakness - for myself and others. --- When our student came out of the office today, I just wanted to hug her. She wants to know how she can be a counselor if that phone call made her cry. I think the fact that the phone call made her cry is what makes her qualified to be a counselor. What really are tears? They're an acknowledgement that things aren't ok. They're not the way things are supposed to be. They come from a heart broken from what is and hopeful for what is to come. Therefore, tears are a gift. They're an invitation, an acknowledgement, and a hope.