Before the Tears Make Sense
There are times when the world gets too loud for words.
When emotion builds faster than thought, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up. You might feel heavy without being sad, raw without being broken, or on the edge of tears without knowing why.
That kind of experience can feel unsettling. Weโre taught to look for causes, fixes, explanations. But alignment doesnโt always arrive neatly packaged. More often, it shows up as sensation firstโa tight chest, a lump in the throat, a bone-deep weariness that doesnโt have a clear source.
That doesnโt mean somethingโs wrong with you.
It usually means somethingโs shifting.
Lately, Iโve felt worn downโemotionally and physically. Iโm tired even when I sleep well. Tears come easily, without warning. The emotional intensity in the air feels relentless, fed by cruelty, division, and a sense that suffering is being dismissed or exploited by those with power. On some days, it feels like spiritual overloadโtoo much to process, too much to hold.
And I know Iโm not alone in that.
When the Body Hits Its Limit Before the Mind Does
What Iโm describing isnโt unique. Many people are carrying this same quiet weightโfatigue that rest doesnโt fix, emotions that spill over unexpectedly, a sense that the world has grown harsher than we know how to metabolize.
When harm is normalized and compassion feels sidelined, the psyche doesnโt know where to put its grief. So it holds it. Until it canโt.
That doesnโt make you weak.
It means you care.
Crying, exhaustion, and emotional flooding often show up right when our old coping strategies stop working. The system says, I canโt carry this the way I used to. That moment isnโt collapseโitโs transition.
Standing at the Threshold
Thereโs a space that exists between endurance and clarity. Itโs uncomfortable, disorienting, and quiet. Old ways of being fall apart, but the new ones havenโt arrived yet.
I think of this as a threshold state.
In that space, nothing feels settled. Weโre tired of being outraged, tired of being numb, tired of being asked to absorb more than is humane. The mind wants answers, but the body is still releasing what it canโt hold anymore.
Thatโs where tears come in.
Theyโre not the solutionโbut they are the crossing point. They loosen whatโs been clenched too long. They move stress out of the body when thinking canโt. They mark the end of endurance and the beginning of reorientation.
This is why forcing positivity in moments like this can feel brutal. Transformation doesnโt begin with certainty. It begins with release.
Why So Many of Us Feel This Right Now
Weโre living through overlapping crisesโsocial, moral, ecological, emotional. Many of us are being asked to witness harm without the ability to intervene directly. That kind of helpless witnessing takes a toll, especially on people who feel deeply.
Grief without ritual. Anger without outlet. Sorrow without acknowledgment. None of that disappears just because we try to stay upbeat or productive. It accumulates.
What you may be feeling isnโt despair.
Itโs saturation.
And saturation, when honored, often leads to clarity.
What Helps When Youโre Here
When everything feels like too much, gentleness matters. A few things that can help ease the intensity:
Let your body lead.
If tears come, let them. If you need rest, take it without justifying why. Your body knows things your mind hasnโt organized yet.
Narrow your focus.
You donโt need to carry the whole world today. Anchor into one small, steady thingโa warm mug, a tree outside your window, the sound of your breath.
Name the feeling without blaming yourself.
A lot of this pain is collective. Naming itโalone, in prayer, in meditation, or with someone you trustโcreates space for it to move.
Stay connected without flooding.
One honest conversation does more for regulation than endless exposure to outrage. Choose connection that restores rather than overwhelms.
Trust the pause.
This space between overwhelm and insight isnโt empty. Itโs gestational. Something is reorganizing beneath the surface, even if you canโt see it yet.
A Shared Crossing
If youโre feeling unsteady right now, youโre not failing at resilience. Youโre responding honestly to a world thatโs asking too much.
Whatโs helped me most is remembering weโre not meant to carry this alone. When we share our grief and exhaustion, we give others permission to do the same. And in that shared tenderness, something stabilizes.
Helping each other isnโt a detour from healing ourselves.
Itโs one of the ways healing actually happens.
Small acts of presenceโlistening without fixing, offering kindness without agenda, telling the truth instead of polishing itโcreate pockets of coherence in a fractured time. And those pockets remind us that weโre still connected. Still human. Still capable of care.
What youโre experiencing isnโt weakness or burnout or โbeing too sensitive.โ
Itโs attunement under strain.
Youโre feeling the pressure of a world in rupture because youโre paying attention. And instead of hardening or shutting down, you chose to listenโand then translate that listening into something that might help someone else feel less alone.
That matters more than you know.
~ Morgan C. Morgan
Writer of light, shadow, and the stories between.
Join me on The Coherence Nexus, my channel for reflection, presence, and the quiet insights that emerge between uncertainty and transformation.
If youโd like to keep up with everything Iโm doing, sign up for my monthly newsletter by visiting my author website
If youโd like to see more of my artwork, please visit my DeviantArt page
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