I broke a cup yesterday. In normal circumstances, this would be a non-event: I would sweep up the pieces and move on with my day. If it were a treasured mug, I d maybe be momentarily bummed, but I d almost immediately get over it. In this strange moment of self-isolation, though, looking at the pointy shards of glass spilled across the kitchen floor was enough to make me cry.
The tears running down my face weren t entirely surprising to me, given that I d also recently cried at an episode of Little Fires Everywhere and at the sound of my mom s voice over the phone. I m not normally a crier even in the worst of circumstances, so, Bradshaw-style, I couldn t help but wonder: What, exactly, was making me so weepy?
The most logical answer seems obvious—quarantine anxiety, dummy!—but at the same time, it doesn t fully explain my sudden 24/7 sobfest. I ve been through harder things in my life than holing up at home for a while, and I ve been lucky enough not to have my health or livelihood compromised by COVID-19 thus far. Day-to-day, I m doing fine: Of course, loneliness and anxiety over the state of the world creep in, but consistent exercise and regular Zoom hangs with loved ones have actually made me feel pretty stable. So what s with the random tears?
As I searched for clues, I realized I wasn t the only one in my group chat to have turned into a major crybaby lately. My friend Kate was reduced to tears because her boyfriend gently suggested that he d like to have some input over the decoration of their new apartment; my friend Maya sobbed when she saw a tweet pointing out that a turtle s shell is actually part of its body. What s happening to all of us? We ve all been known to weather actual problems without shedding a tear, so why are we now crying about literally nothing?
According to New York-based psychotherapist and relationship specialist Lisa Brateman, the inclination to cry at minor things in this stressful time has some psychological basis behind it: "Minor stress is connected to more frequent crying. Even a small increase in conflict or fear tend to trigger the need to cry." But it s a response that shows you re trying to process what s happening. "Crying can reduce the buildup of emotions that feel overwhelming to manage," Brateman told Vogue, adding, "Often words are not available in those moments, and crying is a different path towards release to express what words cannot."
Brateman s explanation made sense when I thought about my usual methods of dealing with stress. I m a pretty verbal person, and I make sense of problems by talking them out with my therapist. Since quarantine began, though, therapy has begun to feel like an exercise in futility. After all, I tell myself, I m dealing with the same fear and loss of control that pretty much everyone else is, and sometimes I feel like I m talking in circles.
While I know it s still mentally beneficial to discuss COVID-19-related anxiety even if I feel like I have nothing to say, sometimes I close out my virtual therapy appointments feeling more stress than I did going in, because for the first time, the "talk it out" method isn t working for me. Are my explanation-free tears symptomatic of all the feelings I m currently unwilling, or unable, to put into words?
That could well be the case. Researchers have theorized that crying is a form of self-soothing in humans; they even describe crying as a "mood-enhancing behavior." However, they note that "self-soothing effects of crying might be precluded if the crier deems his/her crying inappropriate in a given social context or in general."
What s truly unique about quarantine is the fact that for the first time in my life, I have no social context. I m alone 24/7, except for brief weekly grocery runs and occasional visits from the UPS guy. Is that part of why my tears are flowing so freely? Am I always this much of a crybaby, and social norms just keep me from expressing it most of the time?
Ultimately, I think the answer is probably no, as there s no question that social distancing is having a negative effect on my mental health, and I m certainly not the only one. Maybe, though, my constant and seemingly random tears aren t a problem to be fixed. What if they re an opportunity to get in touch with my feelings in a way that I normally don t? All I know is that, for the time being, I ll be here, sobbing when I see an Instagram of a baby cuddling a dog.
