Crying

The tears come — sometimes at the slightest touch of something unpleasant. A wrong word, a sharp glance, a disappointed expectation, and your eyes fill, your throat tightens, your body begins to tremble. You are not crying from grief alone. You are crying because everything becomes too much. Because you have no other channel. Because your system is flooded by something you cannot grasp, name, or control.

Seen from outside, crying is a physical reaction — tear fluid, contractions of the facial muscles, changes in breathing rate. But why do you cry at every encounter with the unpleasant? Why does it break through so quickly, so uncontrollably, so exhaustingly? The psychosomatic perspective asks a different question: what is missing in you at the deepest level, that you lose your footing at every small disturbance?