![]() ![]() Even on the happiest day of your life, when all you’ve wished for comes true, you can still cry for the things that break your heart.ĭon’t let anyone tell you that crying is a sign that you lack faith. Even if you know good things are on their way, you can cry for the pain you’re experiencing right now. He cried and wept and asked that this suffering would pass. Yet Scripture tells us that He was “deeply distressed and troubled” (verse 33). He even knows that He will be raised from the dead. In Luke 22:39-46, Jesus is praying in Gethsemane before his arrest and crucifixion. It can give you the strength to move through your day, even when you have nothing left in you. But having a deep knowledge of and trust in Him can keep you anchored even during the darkest, most tearful nights. I’m not going to tell you that trusting in God means you won’t cry to sleep anymore because that just isn’t true. That’s how grief works.” Allowing God to be my anchor in the midst of this stormĮven if, after two weeks, I can say that it’s not getting any easier, it’s a beautiful thing to see that I’m able to carry on – that I’m able to do so because of God, who is my anchor. ![]() It’s okay to cry when you know the pain isn’t going away. It’s okay to cry when you don’t know what else to do. Try not to think about it.” And while my head knows this feeling won’t last forever, my heart still drives me to spend these late-night hours crying myself to sleep.ĭespite this, I look in the mirror and tell myself otherwise “It’s okay to cry. Sometimes the little voice in my head says, “But things will get better. Whatever the reason, there are few things as sad as crying yourself to sleep. You might be mourning the loss of your dreams or the loss of a relationship. Perhaps you’re crying because you got a hard diagnosis or lost a loved one. It makes sense to cry to sleep when life is at its worst. Crying to sleep, despite positive changes Although my mind knows it’s “only” been two weeks, my heart feels like I’ve been in this storm for an eternity. I’ll wear myself out with tears, then sleep fitfully, then move about my day in a haze. This, I’d say, completes the cycle, but it just repeats what has been happening every day for the past two weeks. When I finally return to my bed again, the floodgates open and a fresh well of tears pours out. It’s like I’m moving, but I’m not in my body. The sensation of moving around the room is surreal. I know I’m doing things, but I can’t seem to feel anything other than the overwhelming desire to cry. The sensation is conspicuous, reminding me that I can’t even enjoy food right now. And if somehow I do manage to eat, it sits in a hard lump in my stomach. Swallowing requires me to get food past the giant knot in my jaw and neck. When I do try to eat, everything tastes bland or foul. Even though I know food will help, I can’t gather the energy or willpower to eat. ![]() It almost commands my body to cry loudly enough, and when I do, my stomach hurts from heaving. Unlike other times when I can feel a deep sense of sadness and brokenness, this time requires a lot more effort. But then it happens again, and the cycle repeats. When I wake up, I have a half-second where I don’t remember why I was crying. Those tears begin to dry, and I eventually fall asleep. And, while I’m not sure if it’ll ever stop, my groans eventually fade to silence. It’s as if the sound lingers in my mind long after the agonizing sounds have faded. To be honest, I’m horrified every time I see myself in this situation. Each round of sobbing is punctuated by gasps for air, a desperate attempt to claw myself out of this sadness. The harder I try to stop my tears, the faster they come. But lately, it’s been a time to cry and sob until I feel like I’ve run a marathon. ![]() Regardless of whether I consider myself a night owl, I know that bedtime should be a time to unwind and rest after a long day. While I’m not ready to share all the details about the true reason behind it just yet, it’s in my nature to let these emotions out through my writing, and maybe, just maybe, it’ll get easier. Since I can remember, I’ve been exceptional at grieving and allowing myself to feel my emotions with an intensity that others don’t always understand. That’s not the sort of thing most people admit openly, but it’s the truth. Well, I’ve been crying myself to sleep for two weeks now. ![]()
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