On Dry Eyes & Tears

Taken from my newsletter: On Loss and Life (Edition 3)

I wanted to share something a little personal with you this month. Recently, I was told I have ‘dry eyes’. It’s quite common, especially as we get older, or if we spend lots of time looking at screens, and it’s easily treated with drops and heat treatments. I’ve discovered that dry eyes happen when your eyes don’t make enough tears, or the tears they do make aren’t quite the right quality and evaporate too quickly. This can leave your eyes feeling dry, irritated, or even paradoxically watery as they try to compensate. You may have noticed me wearing my glasses more in online sessions and workshops!  

I’m telling you this because I was really struck by something the optician said: “You need to improve the quality of your tears”. This has been on my mind ever since she said it. On one level it’s a simple medical thing - but it got me curious about the role tears play, and why they matter.

My first response was that my tears are of good quality, thank you very much! I’ve worked hard on them! Haha! I’ve cried a lot of tears over the years – tears of joy, love, pain, and sorrow. But then I remembered, it’s not always been like that. Sometimes, for lots of reasons, it’s been hard to let tears flow as easily as they might do now. And I thought about you and your tears, and thought some reflections on tears might be helpful for you as you navigate times of change, loss and grief.

About 15 years ago, I was sat in a therapy room as a client, and I began to cry. I immediately apologised and wiped and blotted my eyes to try to stop them and remove all evidence of them. The therapist said, “It’s ok. It’s only water” and appeared unmoved by my tears. I was perplexed at the time, and it’s stayed with me all these years. It felt like permission, a normalising, an acceptance – and, at the time, weird to be honest. He didn’t try to make me feel better or rescue me. He didn’t jump up with a tissue to wipe them away. I’m grateful for that moment as it began a journey of reframing my relationship with tears and crying. Tears are just water; and they are our oceans, storms and tsunamis too.

Crying is something we all do, from our very first breath. We cry for many reasons and not all our tears are the same. There are three different types of tears: basal tears (the ones that keep our eyes moist and healthy), reflex tears (the ones that wash out irritants, like when we get dust in our eye), and emotional tears (the ones we shed when in response to feelings).

Emotional tears are a deeply human response. Studies suggest that emotional tears play a very important role - they may help regulate stress hormones, support emotional release, and even signal to others that we need care or comfort. Emotional tears contain stress hormones, and when we cry, our bodies release those hormones. This biological response can be part of why we feel a sense of relief after crying. Crying isn’t just ‘letting it out’ it’s an instinctive and intrinsic form of communication, an innate physiological response, and even an act of healing. Sometimes tears are words we haven’t found yet. Sometimes they’re the most real, honest, and human thing we have when big feelings come.

Even though science tells us that our tears are literally a way for our bodies to physiologically release stress and soothe pain – our society doesn’t always give us permission to cry. Crying has a long, complex history in our culture and society. In ancient times, tears were often seen as a public, communal expression of grief. In many cultures, it was expected - and even encouraged - to cry loudly and visibly at funerals or times of mourning. The Irish keening tradition, which involved wailing and weeping, was once common in rural communities as a public expression of grief, though it’s less common today. In some parts of the world, traditions involving crying remain. But in many Western cultures, attitudes toward crying have shifted over time. By the Victorian era, emotional restraint became a sign of dignity and strength. Crying became more private, hidden, or even shameful in certain settings.

In many Western societies, I believe there is still significant stigma surrounding crying. The phrases “keep a stiff upper lip”, “boys don’t cry” or “crying is a sign of weakness” capture the idea that emotions should be contained/supressed, not expressed.

From an early age, boys are often taught to suppress their emotions. They are told to “man up,” “be brave,” or “stop crying like a girl.” These messages might seem small in the moment, but over time, they teach boys that tears are shameful, that sadness/pain/longing/frustration/joy should be hidden, and that vulnerability is not ok. Studies show that men are far less likely to seek support for emotional pain, and are more likely to express distress through anger, withdrawal, or physical symptoms. Crying is a human response, not a gendered one. Tears are part of how we process overwhelming emotion, build connection, and grieve losses. Suppressing them doesn’t make us stronger — it can actually leave us stuck, alone, or numb.

Today, those old expectations still linger somewhat. This attitude has passed through generations and is sometimes so deeply ingrained that many people grow up feeling that crying is wrong, weak or shameful. This idea has real consequences on our ability to express ourselves and process emotions. Studies have shown that this cultural pressure can contribute to higher levels of stress and mental ill-health, as the act of holding back tears can mean we're not fully processing emotions.

Often people worry they’ll be seen as weak or out of control if they cry in public - or even in private therapy spaces. Yet research shows that tears are natural and healthy. Suppressing tears can’t make feelings smaller; rather it pushes the feelings down, where they might fester or emerge in other ways, like physical illness, anxiety, or depression. The “don’t cry” message disconnects people from their feelings, their needs, and from others. Tears are not weakness. They are a healthy, human response to overwhelming emotions. They are part of loss, grief, and healing.

Many people tell me that they are afraid to let themselves start crying, as they worry they won't stop. This is a common experience for many people. It’s often tied to the emotional intensity of the moment. We may worry that allowing ourselves to cry will lead to a loss of control or an overwhelming flood of emotions. However, it’s important to remember that crying, like all emotions, is temporary. It often provides a release, and after the emotional intensity fades, there’s usually a sense of relief. Everything changes, and as I so often say in therapy: “Everything changes. This too shall pass. It might pass like a kidney stone, but it will pass”.

I often notice people apologising for their tears – in real life, on tv and films; it’s become normal etiquette. Rarely do we see people unapologetically letting their water fall out of their eyes without trying to clean it up! Many of us have learned, from family, school, and society, that tears are something to hide or control. We might feel ashamed, exposed, or fear being seen as ‘too emotional’ or ‘not coping’. Apologising can be a reflex - an attempt to make ourselves smaller or less ‘disruptive’.

I see this so often in the therapy room: a client’s tears beginning to fall, and almost immediately, an apology follows. I get it! I’ve been there too! I always gently remind them: you never need to apologise for your tears. Ever. You can bring all of you, tears and all. All the feelings. No brave faces are needed. Your tears are welcome, safe, and valid. 

Crying is not a sign of weakness or failure - it’s a sign that something important is being felt, acknowledged, and given space. In fact, crying in therapy can be a powerful moment of connection with your feelings and with yourself, a moment of courage, vulnerability, relief and release. Crying often signals that someone is allowing themselves to feel rather than avoid or push away big feelings. Sometimes, tears appear in moments of clarity or insight. Sometimes they show up when words feel too small for the weight we’re carrying. Tears tell a story words can’t always reach. Sometimes they simply fall because it’s safe enough, finally, to let them. Therapy provides a place where tears are welcome. Where you can begin to unlearn those “don’t cry” messages safely and without judgement.

In therapy, crying isn’t something to fix or stop - it’s part of the work. It’s a sign that you’re allowing yourself to feel. And feeling, even when it’s painful, is how we begin to heal. I won’t mop up your tears or wipe them away, I won’t hurry you on, I can’t take them away, but I will sit beside you as you cry and hold space for you and for them.

If you have ever found yourself apologising for your tears, I gently invite you to curiously wonder: where did I learn to be ashamed of this very human response? Whose comfort am I protecting when I say sorry?

In a world that doesn’t always make space for them, therapy can be one of the few places where tears are truly welcome. And whether you cry, laugh, talk, or sit in silence, therapy is a space where you can show up exactly as you are. If you’ve been feeling close to tears, or distant from them, or anywhere in between - I’d be honoured to walk alongside you.