When Cancer Makes You Cry, Cry It Out

Felicia Mitchell is a survivor of stage 2b HER2-positive breast cancer diagnosed in 2010. Catch up on all of Felicia's blogs here!

Sometimes the best advice you can give somebody dealing with cancer — from breast cancer, which I personally experienced, to the many kinds of cancer our family members and friends have experiened — is the simplest advice. Recently I found myself telling a friend with a new cancer diagnosis, “It is okay to cry.”

My friend, of course, knows that. In fact, we had shed some tears together just before I said it. But for some reason, I always want to say this out loud. Here it is again: “It is okay to cry.” Say it aloud. It is okay to cry. I should know. While I sometimes talk about my cancer days through rose-colored glasses, my journals remind me of how often I did cry.

Does this track record mean that I am an easy crier? Recently, I took a test offered within a “New York Times” article on crying entitled, “What Kind of Crier Are You?” The result of the test proclaimed, “You aren’t a crier, and that’s ok.” While explaining why I might not get as teary-eyed as others, especially women, it suggested that “it might be worth talking to a mental health professional to explore why.”

Well, I did speak with a mental health professional about crying when I was dealing with cancer because my crying got out of hand. We all should remember to seek help if crying will not stop. If we do not recognize the problem in ourselves, we have to hope our friends will notice and help us to seek relevant assistance. In my case, I told my breast cancer nurse navigator, and she got me connected with a therapist within a day. In that case, crying signified how depressed I became when I began processing my complicated year during the last days of treatment.

Now? Am I too bottled up? Not really. I think the problem with that survey, as interesting as it is, relates to the questions it asks. I did answer “yes” to important ones, I think, as in “Your neighbor has only months to live. Do you break down when he tells you?”

If a researcher wanted to ask what brings the tears on for me, I could provide a list of reasons, despite the fact that I can be stoic and clear-headed in a crisis. Here is a list of a few personal triggers, and by no means all triggers, in no particular order: a sappy “Reader’s Digest” story, losing electricity during an ice storm after returning from a chemo treatment, a marching band with trombones blaring, breaking a wrist, the death of a cat, the death of a dog, the accidental mowing of a rare plant I monitor by the Appalachian Trail and sad movies.

So, no, I do not think I need to seek professional help. I know how to cry. I just do not tend to cry when somebody gets a standing ovation or my home team wins the Super Bowl, among other things. That is the point of what I am trying to say here. Know your personal crying style. Figure it out based on your own triggers and needs. Anybody who has experienced cancer is going to have a unique crying style.

When and where should a survivor cry? In the arms of a friend sharing in your cancer diagnosis? In the bathtub after a mastectomy? In your car in the parking lot of the cancer center? On the phone with a friend as she is telling you she is now on hospice? On the phone with a friend dying of cancer who calls to say goodbye? At the grocery store, when you see a box of Moon Pies reminding you of your father, who died of complications of Parkinson’s disease and cancer? Every time you think of your brother who died young of cancer? Every time you speak your mother’s name? Or whenever you, so uniquely you, want to? You choose.

For more news on cancer updates, research and education, don’t forget to subscribe to CURE®’s newsletters here.