There is A Sacredness in Tears

I have been practicing yoga off and on for roughly 20 years and with the exception of a short maternity leave and a break during a portion of the pandemic, I have been teaching since 2016. I currently teach yoga at the downtown Sportsbarn and at The Hive on Lookout Mountain. As a yoga student, there have definitely been moments when I have been deeply moved by a yoga teacher’s words, to the point that tears have welled up in my eyes. I have also witnessed many students cry, both as a teacher and student. Additionally, I have had many yoga students apologize for their tears and I have tried to gently let them know yoga is a safe place where our tears are always welcome. Because we store trauma in our body, a class of hip stretches, heart openers, breath, and movement is always an opportunity to let go of emotions we are holding in our body. And sometimes, when we release pain that we have been storing in the body, unexpected tears manifest. Often people describe feeling lighter after a yoga class, because we consciously or unconsciously move emotion out of our physical being during class.

In May of 2022, I attended a yoga class taught by Lisa McBryde. Lisa teaches yoga at Southern Soul and Yoga Landing. She is a phenomenal teacher whose classes are always full, due to the fact you will likely laugh and have fun in her class, and also find muscles you did not know you had! Lisa always has an energizing playlist and a strength building class, and yet she also offers an invitation to soften in some way. Many of us have moments in time that we consider sacred and what happened in Lisa’s class was one of life’s holy moments for me.

At the very end of Lisa’s class, sweat dripped from my face, and I self-congratulated myself for making it through a tough as nails class. The ending pose in yoga is called Savasana or corpse pose, and just before Savasana, Lisa expressed sadness about Naomi Judd’s death. The famous country singer had sadly died the day before our class by suicide. Lisa empathetically shared she wanted to end class with a song in honor of Naomi Judd, and to remember those who were struggling with mental health issues. And then she played the song, Love Can Build a Bridge. I had not heard that song in at least ten years and it triggered something in my heart space and I started to sob. Like I said previously, I have had tears in my eyes in a yoga class, but I have never openly cried. I cried so hard, the yoga student next to me softly put a hand on my shoulder. Sometimes people can pat you in a way that translates stop crying. But the yoga student’s gentle touch on my shoulder communicated kindness and solidarity in the midst of my tears.

As I was crying, shame reared its ugly head. As I sobbed I worried what others would think, particularly because one of my brother’s close friends was one row right in front of me.

Before I share with you why I was crying so deeply during the yoga class, I want to share a little about my history with crying. I have always been comfortable shedding tears at home with my husband, or while reading an emotionally stirring book. But I have not ever been someone who openly cried in public. One reason I have not always cried openly with others is that I have tried to be the consummate professional. 20 years ago when I was training to be a chaplain, I remember learning that chaplains need to be very careful with our tears because we are the caregiver, and not the care receiver. During a chaplain workshop, an experienced clergy person shared with those of us who were chaplains in training that if we were not careful with our tears, we might unconsciously seek to be the one who received care, instead of maintaining the role of being the empathetic chaplain. And while this advice was not wrong, I think I may have taken it to heart in a way that pushed me to always be in the role of the stoic health professional in public, even when I was off the clock. For example, in public I have always worn the hat of pastor, chaplain, counselor, yoga teacher and helper, and only very rarely allowed myself to cry, be vulnerable and receive.

When Lisa played the Judd’s song, “Love Can Build a Bridge”, it took me straight back to singing this very song to my dad when I was a girl. My dad loved country music and during my childhood I used to belt out country music songs to him at the top of my lungs. Loretta Lynn, Barbara Mandrell, Conway Twitty, George Jones, Johnny Cash, and The Judd’s were just a few of the artists we loved. I even went through a short phase where I wrote my own country songs and had dreams of being a star like Dolly. Unfortunately, I don’t think my songs were Nashville worthy, but nevertheless my dad was my biggest fan! So as I cried in the yoga class, it was a cathartic experience to remember this special time of singing to my dad, but it also was a time to release some of the grief I continue to feel due to his death at the end of 2020 from COVID-19 and other long term health issues.

I think there are often layers to why we cry. I believe that as I sobbed in class I was crying for love to build a bridge between my dad in heaven and my heart on earth, but also between Russia and the Ukraine, between the Republicans and the Democrats, and between Antivaxxers and Provaxxers. The Judd’s song is a proclamation for reconciliation and keeping our hearts open to one another.

I mentioned earlier that for a moment in time, I felt shame when I cried in Lisa’s yoga class. But to be honest, this feeling of shame thankfully did not last long. It quickly turned to gratitude, because I knew it took courage to be vulnerable and open-hearted enough to cry openly in public. I was also grateful because the cathartic release of my tears left me feeling lighter, as I left the yoga studio.

Washington Irving once said, “There is a sacredness in tears. They are not a mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition and of unspeakable love.” For far too long my varied care-giving professional roles have kept me strong for others, instead of giving me enough space to tend to my own emotional needs. But in the final yoga resting pose, Savasana, as “Love Can Build a Bridge” played, I found tremendous healing in what some deem to be weak-vulnerability, tears, and an open heart. When I think of the Judd’s powerful song, I am mindful that sometimes love requires us not only to build bridges with others, but with our own self. In order to build a bridge to our own heart space we must practice vulnerability, softening, self-kindness, and staying in tune with our emotions. Will we do the spiritual work of building a bridge of love to both our own heart and even to those who are very different from us?

A version of this article was originally published in the Mountain Mirror.