Well, I’ve been crying myself to sleep for two weeks now. That’s not the sort of thing most people admit openly, but it’s the truth. 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.

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.

But it’s not getting any easier

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. But lately, it’s been a time to cry and sob until I feel like I’ve run a marathon. The harder I try to stop my tears, the faster they come. Each round of sobbing is punctuated by gasps for air, a desperate attempt to claw myself out of this sadness.

To be honest, I’m horrified every time I see myself in this situation. It’s as if the sound lingers in my mind long after the agonizing sounds have faded. And, while I’m not sure if it’ll ever stop, my groans eventually fade to silence. Those tears begin to dry, and I eventually fall asleep. When I wake up, I have a half-second where I don’t remember why I was crying. But then it happens again, and the cycle repeats.

Unlike other times when I can feel a deep sense of sadness and brokenness, this time requires a lot more effort. It almost commands my body to cry loudly enough, and when I do, my stomach hurts from heaving. Even though I know food will help, I can’t gather the energy or willpower to eat. When I do try to eat, everything tastes bland or foul. Swallowing requires me to get food past the giant knot in my jaw and neck. And if somehow I do manage to eat, it sits in a hard lump in my stomach. The sensation is conspicuous, reminding me that I can’t even enjoy food right now.

I go about my day as if I’m in a fog. I know I’m doing things, but I can’t seem to feel anything other than the overwhelming desire to cry. It’s almost as if nothing exists. The sensation of moving around the room is surreal. It’s like I’m moving, but I’m not in my body.

When I finally return to my bed again, the floodgates open and a fresh well of tears pours out. This, I’d say, completes the cycle, but it just repeats what has been happening every day for the past two weeks. I’ll wear myself out with tears, then sleep fitfully, then move about my day in a haze. Although my mind knows it’s “only” been two weeks, my heart feels like I’ve been in this storm for an eternity.

Crying to sleep, despite positive changes

It makes sense to cry to sleep when life is at its worst. Perhaps you’ve been there, too. Perhaps you’re crying because you got a hard diagnosis or lost a loved one. You might be mourning the loss of your dreams or the loss of a relationship. Whatever the reason, there are few things as sad as crying yourself to sleep.

Sometimes the little voice in my head says, “But things will get better. 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.

Despite this, I look in the mirror and tell myself otherwise “It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to let it all out. It’s okay to cry when you don’t know what else to do. It’s okay to cry when you know the pain isn’t going away. It’s okay to cry. That’s how grief works.”

Allowing God to be my anchor in the midst of this storm

Even 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.

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. But having a deep knowledge of and trust in Him can keep you anchored even during the darkest, most tearful nights. It can give you the strength to move through your day, even when you have nothing left in you.

In Luke 22:39-46, Jesus is praying in Gethsemane before his arrest and crucifixion. He knows He will suffer and die. He even knows that He will be raised from the dead. Yet Scripture tells us that He was “deeply distressed and troubled” (verse 33). He cried and wept and asked that this suffering would pass.

Jesus wept.

If Jesus can weep, so can you and I. Even if you know good things are on their way, you can cry for the pain you’re experiencing right now. 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.

Don’t let anyone tell you that crying is a sign that you lack faith. You can have faith and still cry. You can have faith and still seek professional help. You can have faith even if you don’t know how things will turn out. Faith does not preclude the experience of so-called “negative” emotions. God is right there with you in the midst of the storm. Faith is knowing that when you cry, you don’t cry alone.

When is this going to end? I don’t know, but…

No one wants to cry to sleep. No one wants to spend their last waking hours sobbing until they’re too exhausted to stay awake. And no one wants to wake up the next day remembering the overwhelming grief that engulfed them the night before.

Yet sometimes the best thing you can do is cry. Let yourself feel all the feelings. Allow yourself to grieve intensely. Cry out to God and ask Him hard questions. His shoulders are big enough to bear any burden, even those things that burden your heart tonight.

Meanwhile, I’ll be over here crying, too. Although I know things will get better, I can’t wrap up my grief in a neat little bow and label it “that time I cried to sleep.” I’m still in the thick of it. I’m still sobbing until I’m unaware of anything but the crushing weight of sadness. Right now, I just need to sit with the sadness. Right now, I just need to cry myself to sleep.