“No one ever told me grief felt like fear.” — C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
God knows, as men, we tend to keep everything bottled up. We don’t share our pain or sorrow, thinking it’s a sign of weakness or that it’s somehow unmanly. Nothing could be further from the truth. KNOW THIS: Courage isn’t about suffering in silence. It’s about being vulnerable enough to dive into the depths of your grief and face the emotional dragon that’s been haunting you. You can slay that dragon—if you have the strength, knowledge, and support to do it.
So what does it take?
I love what Dr. Brené Brown says about courage:
“Courage is a heart word. The root of the word courage is ‘cor’—the Latin word for heart. In one of its earliest forms, the word courage meant ‘To speak one’s mind by telling all one’s heart.’ Over time, this definition has changed, and today, we typically associate courage with heroic and brave deeds. But in my opinion, this definition fails to recognize the inner strength and level of commitment required for us to actually speak honestly and openly about who we are and about our experiences—good and bad. Speaking from our hearts is what I think of as ‘ordinary courage.’”
— Brené Brown, I Thought It Was Just Me: Women Reclaiming Power and Courage in a Culture of Shame
How do you get the courage to share your pain?
For me, it started with having a confidant—someone I trusted. That person could be a therapist or an honest friend who listens to your heart but doesn’t feed your drama. In my case, it began with my former wife and I going to a marriage counselor we both respected. He had an incredible bullshit meter and could drop a truth bomb that left me thinking, Wow, I never thought about it that way. Or, I didn’t realize I was doing that. [Improved clarity, phrasing, and pacing.]
As odd as it sounds, my lawyer—who was also a longtime friend—became one of my greatest sounding boards during and after the divorce. He had gone through a similar process himself and knew how to help me unpack what I was feeling and why. He had a way of gently pointing out how the actions I was considering might just add more fuel to the fire. Especially when kids are involved, you have to think long-term. Even after they turn 18, your former spouse is still going to be part of your life. So build up some goodwill now—you’ll need it later.
This process—grieving, healing, rebuilding—is about nurturing all parts of yourself: mental, physical, and spiritual. If one part gets neglected, the whole system suffers. There’s no single “right” way to do this. Everyone’s path to wholeness is different. So experiment. Be open. Try something new.
Here’s how you’ll know you’re on the right track: what you’re considering doing makes you feel uncomfortable or scared. That’s your signal. Move toward that fear. And yeah—fuck no, it’s not easy. But do it anyway and see what happens. I promise, you’ll be surprised at how you feel when you begin to open up.
For some, healing might come through church, spiritual reading, music, or creative expression like drawing or dance. Whatever it is, make time for it. Stretch yourself. Take a risk on you. Get out of your comfort zone. Mix it up! If you’re bored—guess what? That’s on you. Take your mind off the loop of work, kids, and self-obsession.
From experience, I can tell you that life improves—not just yours, but the lives of those around you—when you stop stressing over what you can’t control. Control is a huge issue for many of us. It’s drilled into us from childhood. But when unmanaged, the stress from trying to control everything can literally kill you.
Dr. Gabor Maté breaks it down clearly:
“The research literature has identified three factors that universally lead to stress: uncertainty, the lack of information, and the loss of control.”
— Gabor Maté, When the Body Says No: Understanding the Stress-Disease Connection
Don’t overthink it. You’re stronger than you imagine.
We all know people who replay old relationship stories on repeat. I’ve got a friend who seems to thrive on relationship drama—because it’s what he knows. It’s how he grew up. If you’re still carrying unresolved pain from past relationships or family wounds, the cycle won’t break until you’re ready to let go. I was that angry guy once—hostile toward everything. It was poison. And I knew if I wanted another relationship in my life, I had to clean house emotionally. No one deserves to live with an angry partner.
So how did I do it?
By crying. At first, to feel the pain—and then, to release it. Crying became a way to evict the emotional squatters that had set up camp in my head. I felt like I was purging illness from my body—emotional toxicity leaving through tears. Sometimes I would cry for no obvious reason, but I knew why deep down. It was grief moving through me.
If you’re a guy, maybe you see that as weak. But I dare you to try it the next time a heavy wave hits and you’re alone.
Washington Irving once wrote:
“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the 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.”
I think you’ll be amazed—as I was—when you allow yourself to cry. The overwhelming emotions subside. They lose their grip. It’s like lancing a boil or healing a wound.
After a crying session, my body felt lighter. Like I had puked up something rotten. Crying wasn’t weakness—it was physical healing. I was making space in myself, clearing out the pain so I could fill it with something better: my own loving heart.
Still not convinced?
Dr. William Frey, a biochemist and “tear expert,” found that emotional tears actually remove stress hormones from the body. Reflex tears (like those from cutting onions) are 98% water, but emotional tears carry toxins. Crying literally releases stress. [Clarified science and tightened prose.]
In Psychology Today, Dr. Judith Orloff writes that a good cry is a form of emotional cleansing. It releases pent-up feelings, reduces fatigue and pain, and triggers endorphins—natural painkillers.
Crying helps your mind, your body, and your spirit. It’s a natural release. So give yourself the permission, the time, and the space to feel. To express. To grieve.
Stop judging yourself for crying. Those tears are unspoken words, pain leaving your body. One day, they won’t come so often. But until then, let them fall. They’re part of the process.
Practice patience. Show compassion for yourself. Every tear carries away a little more of the weight.
Grief is a brutal teacher. But it teaches us who we are, who we want to be, and who we can become.
In time, we learn we can survive what once seemed impossible. Grief introduces us to our own resilience. Through it, we gain deeper awareness, stronger connections, and more intentional purpose. It teaches us that while change is inevitable, we don’t have to be defined by loss. We can grow. We can evolve. We can transform.
Jennifer Stern, LISW, writes on her website Transformative Grief:
“Let your tears fall with pride, for they are not a sign of weakness or self-pity, but an authentic expression of sorrow. It takes great courage to feel your feelings, to express them openly and honestly. Grief work takes guts, persistence, patience, self-compassion, and courage—lots and lots of courage. Tears are the sweat of grief work.”
It’s not your job to make others comfortable with your grief. Your job is to grieve. To feel. To heal. If your tears make others uncomfortable, calmly tell them the truth:
“I cry because I grieve. I cry because I lost someone I love. I cry because life will always be bittersweet now. I cry because there are no words for how I feel. I cry because I’m brave enough to face another day with this pain in my heart.”
When we witness someone crying, it reminds us of our own powerlessness to fix their pain. But sometimes, the most supportive thing we can do is just sit with them. Breathe. Hold the space. Let the tears come.
Relax into the changes:
Allow yourself to cry. Let the pain out. It changes everything—your perspective, your energy, your heart. We are never separate. We are all connected. And the more we remember that, the more we return to love and light. Let a few tears fall. It’s one of the most powerful things you can do.
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