Jerry Novack doesn’t like to cry, or more accurately, to be seen crying. He thinks that causes a problem.
I just lit a candle like I do every year. And I said a prayer, both in English and Hebrew, like I do every year. And I wept … like I do every year. Not cried, wept. Tears streamed, my body shook, my nose ran, and I sobbed. In my 37 years on this planet, that was the 30th candle, the 30th prayer, and the 30th time I’ve wept afterward. Tonight marks the 30th anniversary of my mother’s death. I was seven when she died. I don’t even really remember her – just a few hazy, incomplete memories, but still I ache from a palpable void in my being created by her absence.
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This all seems fairly normal; it is what Jewish people do to commemorate a loved one’s passing, it is my reaction to my own crying that troubles me. I hate the crying, even though I like to consider myself a modern, enlightened man. I study gender and am aware of the extremely limiting messages that boys receive as they grow and develop: “Boys don’t cry;” “Don’t be a sissy;” “Real men are tough;” and so on. I even recall being praised by male relatives at my mother’s funeral because I didn’t cry. The irony is that I think my seven-year-old failure to cry had more to do with shock and lack of understanding than it did with adherence to traditional masculine norms.
I do believe, in earnest, that men ought to cry when remembering their deceased loved ones. I believe that men should cry with joy at the birth of their children, with relief when they touch down on American soil after returning from war, with fear when their partner is diagnosed with a life-threatening illness, and with gratitude when that partner is given a clean bill of health. Crying should be acceptable, perhaps not in the boardroom or on the golf course, but certainly at the end of Rudy. I also believe that men ought to laugh, embrace, dance, sing, and love. We can feel a full spectrum of human emotions. In the appropriate environments, we should be free to express the full range of human emotions.
Yet I experience such shame when I cry. First, I try to resist the tears, and generally manage to hold them back for a few moments. Inevitably, as soon as I get involved in something and forget to fight them back, the tears start to flow of their own volition. Powerless against them, I cover my face and try to minimize my sniffling so my wife won’t hear me and know that I am crying, despite the fact that I just recited the mourner’s prayer for my mother who died at age 34. Also inevitably, my wife realizes that I am crying and comes to comfort me, which initiates an almost overwhelming internal sense of panic, as well as more crying, face-covering and turning away. She tries to comfort me. She puts her arms around me. She tells me that she would take my pain away and bear it herself, if it were possible. Even if she could, I wouldn’t want her to.
It’s my sadness. I’ve come by it honestly, and despite my trouble crying freely, I do believe that experiencing that sadness enriches my life as much as experiencing joy does. She even cries from the pain of seeing me hurt, though not with the same shame that I display. I am a lucky man. She is wonderful. In the moment, though, I am unable to appreciate how lucky I am because I am narcissistically obsessed with my own embarrassment. Instead of holding her and silently sharing my moment of sadness, loneliness and pain with my life partner in an authentic, emotional moment, I try to reassure her that I am fine, that I don’t need anything (from a glass of water to a conversation), and that it will all pass in a minute. The truth is that the tears do pass, but the sadness and emptiness do not.
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I don’t like to cry, or more accurately, to be seen crying. I think that causes a problem. When I commemorate my mother’s death, tears legitimately express how I feel. They are real, honest, and authentic. By withholding them and not sharing them with the people I love, I keep those people at a certain distance. They can never know me completely and honestly, and thus our relationship to each other is inherently limited. So, men of the world, I pose this question: Which is more “manly,” to hide who you are, running from your emotions in order to conform to some archaic rule about what it means to be “a man” without ever questioning it, or to be who you are, true in the moment, and if it means tears, then damn it, it means tears?
I know which sounds more manly to me. I just don’t know why I struggle so hard to live up to my choice. The research is clear: softening the rigidity of what it means to be a man promises to enrich our relationships, benefit our health, and free our children from the social bondage with which we wrest. Then I remember one other thing: Life is short. Whether you live to 34 like my mother, or 134 like a Siberian monk, there is not enough time for any of it to be wasted. Experience it all: good, bad, happy and sad. Laugh, love, and yes, even cry a bit. It’s good for you.
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Author: Jerry Novack is a Nationally Certified Counselor and a doctoral student studying counseling psychology at Ball State University (www.bsu.edu). He is a captain in the U.S. Air Force (www.airforce.com), a husband, and the proud father of his one-year-old son.
—Photo Kevin N. Murphy/Flickr
About Jerry Novack
=Which is more “manly,” to hide who you are, running from your emotions in order to conform to some archaic rule about what it means to be “a man” without ever questioning it, or to be who you are, true in the moment, and if it means tears, then damn it, it means tears?=
What if the answer combines the two choices: that to be who I am is to be publicly stoic in such situations, and privately forthcoming. I agree that it is wrong to withhold emotions – other than in boardrooms, etc. – but I disagree in the places some might consider it is appropriate. What good comes from public displays of grief?
Hey CharliePATpk, thanks for your insightful feedback. I think you and I are on the same page, more or less. By posing that question, it was not my intention to suggest that there could only be two options, but rather that there exists a continuum of possibilities. In my opinion (and this just my opinion) each man should consciously and periodically (as people change) decide for himself where he falls on that continuum. Some men will be more expressive – others less. Both are fine with me. What I rail against is unexamined adherence to a restrictive, “one size fits all” script for men. As I said, I think we might be saying similar things, but if not, there is plenty of room for diverse opinions. Thanks again for your interest and insightful remark.
I really enjoyed reading this. Just a quick question however. At the end, you compare two choices and suggest a hierarchy to the reader between the two. My question asks, why does there need to be a choice at all? No matter the choice you are still choosing to define a standard of manliness. I think the biggest issue is the focus on being manly regardless of the form it takes. The word manly is merely a characteristic to describe an attribute when telling a story. It’s purpose is only illustrative. Perhaps there is a deeper understanding that can be defined when the reason for this word choice comes clear? Who is the individual if not defined by this attribute? Does anything change?
It is a tremendous show of strength to share something so personal ~ as an individual.
Thank you for your feedback, Renee. If you read the exchange just above your comment, I respond to a similar point raised by another reader. If you have more to say or would like me elaborate more after that, please feel free…
Hi Jerry. Congratulations on being smart enough to find an annual way to relieve some of the sadness at having grown up without your mother. Since you are a Captain in the Air Force, this is proof that a traditionally ‘masculine’ man can care well for his health by expressing his emotions accurately.
Your mother, wife, son and country should all be proud of you. This one ritual per year likely helps you serve as a better husband, father and soldier all year long.
Thank you for your thoughtful response, Margo. I am so glad that you enjoyed this article and I am flattered by your feedback. I appreciate it.
A powerful article! I sniffled several times, and of course tried to hide it because I was reading in my office. I appreciate your courage to share not only a powerful moment, but also a painfully honest view of your internal dialog. Most people can’t share this kind of reflection with loved ones, let alone an open web audience. I to hate to cry in public, I think it always makes me look weak. Nor am I incorrect about that statement, as our society as a whole interprets crying as a sign of weakness – a layer of the issue not presented in your article. You can see it on their faces and hear it in their voices. But I am not good a crying in private, or even socially acceptable places. Never cried once at my brother’s wake 2 years ago. I spent my whole time thinking that I had to be strong for everybody else who was grieving so much – though I have yet to figure out why this was somehow my “job”. And still struggle with letting anyone so much a touch me when I cry. Like you, it often makes me more distressed. I know exactly where I learned it – whenever I cried when I was little, and I mean even at age 6, my father would tell me to quit crying, quit acting like a baby, and when that failed, told me to my face that I was weak – no pulling punches or vagueness there! Unfortunately, the societal messages are just enough to keep that going. I am not sure that there is a difference between crying in public and crying in private – if crying is shameful, then you hide it in private. If crying is ok, then crying in public should not be a big deal. I believe crying makes me human, not shows me human but MAKES me human in the sense that all of our actions and inactions create us each time we engage in them. I remember a times when I never cried at all, and I was not very human then. I believe crying reflects a better part of me – one that cares and loves and risks pain by being willing to love again. So I echo you, with all of that, why do I hide my crying? The irony of all of this, is that I am a woman. Which shows how powerful family socialization really is. My father used to say that he would “make a man out me” – unfortunately he succeed in some areas that are pretty unhealthy.
PS – I thought your presentation of goals as a dichotomy made sense, not in that they represent all possible choices, but in the sense that when you are trying to move toward a change, you present it to yourself in absolutes to help you push yourself closer to this new place you want to be.
I don’t like to cry. Period.
I especially do not like to cry in front of others, be they my wife, peer or friend. Having recently lost it in front of a workmate while discussing a family issue, I was reminded how much I cannot stand showing that I am vulnerable. I have been laid bare too many times in the last 2 and half years and my tears are a stark reminder that I am not in control and that, despite my manly exterior, I am subject to the whims of the universe, my brain chemistry and my deep love for others. Even those I do not know.
Not being in control is scary as men are supposed to be solid, stoic, like a rock. We are not allowed to acknowledge our lack of control openly and some of us don’t want to do it privately with others or even when completely alone.
It bothers me to cry but it also reminds me that I am connected to all people and those connections sometimes lead to tears because of empathy or sympathy. Those connections are vital to me as they remind me that I am not alone no matter what. I know I am always soft wired to others through shared experiences and emotions and my tears are a symbol of those connections. Knowing I am one with others brings me a measure of peace and the tears are the reminder I must endure.
Six months ago, I finally weaned myself off of my 11 year SSRI prescription and the only downside is that I can barely control my tears. Hallmark cards set me off. The final Harry Potter set me off. The slightest display of emotion on a TV show…anything. I can’t control them. They come without warning and each and every time, I don’t like it when it happens. But it persists. Maybe one day it will be different but not for now. Almost daily, tears well up over something, for little reason and with little warning.
I do not weep for a lost loved one, as Mr. Novack does, but I know why he does and why he cannot stop even 30 years later. His tears keep him connected to his mother and those tears are a small price to pay to maintain a connection lost all too early.
I understand your concern about showing your vulnerabilities in the workplace. More often than not, that can damage career potential.
Charlie,
I agree that showing vulnerability is not the wisest in an office setting but this situation was two men comparing stories about our adolescent kids who are facing serious mental health issues. Neither of us are in the same department but we’re both in the same boat.
Hi Matt. I was moved by reading about your experience. It takes courage to share something like that. Thank you for your post. I especially resonate with the idea that my tears are a small price to pay for maintaining a connection to my mother. Well put.
Thanks and my best to you.
Crying terrifies me. Not other people’s tears, mind you. Just mine. I can sit fearlessly with others when they cry for as long as it takes to see them through it, and I invariably feel blessed and honored to be part of the experience. Bearing witness to a good, deep, healing cry always makes me feel reconnected with the heart of humanity and the human experience.
But I feel totally unsafe with my own grief and tears. I’m just as terrified to cry alone as I am to cry in the presence of another. I’m reminded of the old Bob Dylan song title: “It Takes A Lot To Laugh, It Takes A Train To Cry”. Well, it just about always takes something as heavy and powerful and unstoppable as a locomotive to break though the layers of fear and shame that keep me from crying when I need to. It has to be big. Huge. Or I have to be feeling unusually safe within myself.
Either way, every tear I can allow is significant, and I’m grateful for every single one.
Thank you, I’m so glad I found and read what you have written here, it’s just beautiful!
My husband rarely cries, and when he does he won’t let me hold him or otherwise comfort him. He turns away, hides his face, struggles hard to stop his tears as quickly as possible and assures me, between sobs, that he’s fine. Part of me is almost hurt by this, silly as it may sound. I feel shut out from his world. I imagine his feelings about crying might be similar to yours. What should I do? Just leave him alone? I feel somehow that even though he refuses it out of embarrassment he does need and want comforting. He only ever cries when he’s in serious emotional pain. How can I help him in the future?
Julia, your confusion and frustration are genuine expressions of your love for that man;
as open as i can be with my tears, there is still a part of me that fears them no matter how close the witness is. As i write this, i recognize that my fear is not of seeming “weak” or “unmanly” as much as fear that I will somehow be….. hmmmm… “out of control.” I know that many men have said that their fear is that once they start to cry, they will never stop (which tells us how much unspoken pain men carry…).
You asked what to do: i suggest just sitting or standing quietly at whatever distance feels appropriate and be a loving witness to his tears. as he sees that you do not “need” to do anything and can just be present, he may be more and more able to allow other forms of comfort from you. He IS opening more each time he cries.
Thank you Zigy (and Charlie!) for your thoughts and advice! Much appreciated!
Julia,
I think you’re doing fine, standing by and letting your husband decide how much comforting he needs. Telling him you are there for him lets him know he isn’t alone, and if he chooses he can turn to you. Many men have (myself included) are more comfortable expressing emotional pain in private. I think it is safe to say he isn’t rejecting you, but that he would rather not express himself in such a state.
Hi Julia. Thank you for your heartfelt and flattering feedback. Sounds like your husband and I are cut from the same cloth. You make my point for me when you write, “I feel shut out from his world.” The problem with his need to be “strong” is that he limits the intimacy you and he can share. My recommendation is this: Therapist Irvin Yalom frequently suggests “striking when the iron is cold.” When your husband’s emotions are surfacing and he feels vulnerable, your attempts to comfort him will likely increase his defensiveness. Of course, this is his issue, not yours, but if you want to help him, you might need to “go with the flow.” Saying something like, “I’m going to give you some space, but I’ll just be in the next room, so if you want to talk, cuddle, just sit quietly together, whatever, just say the word.” Then let him be. Later (maybe a day or two later) when his emotions have cooled a bit, then bring it up and let him know that you struggle with wanting to respect his wishes and leave him alone, but you also want to have a greater shared closeness with him. Collaborate with him, empowering him to come up with ways that you two can increase your intimacy when he is emotionally vulnerable and expect to take baby steps at first. If it helps, share this article with him. Good luck, and please keep me informed.
Aaaah. What if we allowed ourselves to fully express all emotions without judgment? You mentioned that when you withhold certain emotions, you keep others at a distance. Since I choose to believe that life is an inside-out experience, I suggest that you are keeping parts of yourself at a distance. You also mentioned that sadness and emptiness remain after grieving. From my perspective, that sadness and emptiness is a longing for one’s own wholeness and part of self love. My dad died when I was 11 (I am twice+ your age) and I still talk with him as if he were sitting in his easy chair. I watched a PBS program related to near death experiences and the common denominator was the incredible beauty that they experienced at “death”. I continue to choose to believe that there is no death and that celebration of our loved ones life as well as our own may be part of this journey we call human. I choose to believe that I am a spiritual being traveling through human experiences. We are still evolving and awakening in consciousness. I congradulate you on allowing yourself to be authentic and “real”. You are assisting in the awakening of the collective by breaking up patterns of judgment and mind chatter.. AND the bottom line for me (most of the time) is that it is all God and it is all Good.
Wishing you horripilations and awe.
Thank you Karenbeth. Your remarks are insightful and well received. I really appreciate your interest in my article and your willingness to take the time to respond. Thank you.
As a woman who is an adult child of an alcoholic and an incest survivor, I grew up in a home where crying wasn’t allowed except at funerals. Crying was seen as a weakness that could be taken advantage of. I have learned that it is okay and even healing to cry. I still don’t like others seeing me cry.
Thank you for your post, Patricia. You raise an important point. Most men’s issues, or women’s issues as the case may be, are at some level, human issues that transcend gender. I am sorry to hear your experience and I hope that you are finding the resources you need to facilitate growth and healing from that type of childhood. Unfortunately, we cannot erase our pasts, but we need not continuously trip over them. Good luck.
It’s very odd that laughter isn’t seen in the same “being out of control” way that crying is. There have been many times that I have laughed at inappropriate times and really couldn’t stop myself. Same with crying.
I only saw crying as shameful when I used to take myself too seriously. But since I’ve lightened up on myself and let go of the ego, funny thing is, I don’t cry so much. Irony, right?
I think of it like Y2K, panic begets panic. It’s only as big of deal as we make it.