In addition to eating half a bag of fun-sized Milky Ways in one sitting, there’s something else I feel free to do now that I live alone.
No, it’s not watching TV naked.
It’s crying.
Back when family was around, I might let out a whimper during a Hallmark commercial and tear up a bit.
As for all-out release, my kids looked like deer in the headlights when I got weepy. My husband, meanwhile, hailed from stoic Midwestern stock. He was amused, if not entertained, when I cried, and he would stare at me gleefully like I was a circus attraction. Add to this my family of origin’s disdain for crying, and for years I kept a pretty thick wall between the outside of my eyes and the inside.
Apparently, crying control is not unusual. I discovered this when I traveled to several states a few years ago interviewing women for a white paper on modern-day motherhood.
The women I talked to covered the gamut socioeconomically and otherwise. But two things they had in common: They were mothers, and they cried — especially the stay-at-home mothers with young children — in secret.
“I cry in the shower,” I recall one mother saying.
“I cry in the closet,” said another.
Whether secret or not, women apparently will find a way to cry, more so than men. Psychologist Ad Vingerhoets, author of “Why Only Humans Weep: Unravelling the Mysteries of Tears,” says women cry 30 to 64 times a year, compared to six to 17 times per year for men. Women cry for six minutes at a clip, compared to men’s two or three.
Clearly, this gender discrepancy is at least partly related to social conditioning. Girls and boys cry the same amount until around puberty, when boys start getting the message that crying is for babies.
Researchers have found men don’t cry as much for other, physical, reasons, including larger tear ducts, which allows male tears to build up longer than female before spilling over, if at all. Also, testosterone is believed to inhibit crying, while the hormone prolactin, present in higher levels in women, promotes it.
These days I cry wherever and whenever: on the couch, on the bed, in the car, the kitchen. My crying jags constitute everything from a few tears to wailing so loud and long I’m afraid the neighbors are going to call the police.
Sometimes my crying is related to the losses of middle age: health problems, the empty nest and divorce. Watching TV reruns of “The Waltons” and their model marriage can set me off. So can a wayward picture of one of my children breastfeeding, which I think is what got me started to begin with.
I can also be triggered by news of problems besetting the planet: climate change, corporate greed and the stuff Taco Bell gets away with putting in their meat.
Other times it seems I’m making up for lost time. If crying is a natural expression for women, now that I’m on my own, I can finally be a natural woman.
Either way and for whatever reason, I’ve come to realize that I like to cry. Researchers believe it’s better to let tears out than suppress them; with its release of feel-good chemicals, crying is a great antidote for both physical and emotional pain. Crying cleanses the soul. It makes me feel as one with the other women of the world, even if I am alone in my house, which leads me to consider getting together with others to cry.
There’s something called laughter yoga, after all, some 20,000 community clubs where people get together and laugh to release cortisol levels and stress. It’s said to be as good as aerobic exercise at stress reduction. Doing it with others adds the joy of community.
Along the same lines, if crying releases endorphins in one person, imagine the room full of endorphins that could be released in a dozen.
In fact, anybody want to start a community crying club? I’ll bring the Kleenex, “The Waltons” DVDs, and the Milky Ways.
Debra-Lynn B. Hook of Kent, Ohio, has been writing about family life since 1988. Visit her website at www.debralynnhook.com; email her at [email protected], or join her column’s Facebook discussion group at Debra-Lynn Hook: Bringing Up Mommy.
