Exploring Pain: The surprising gift of tears

Six weeks ago, I fell while skiing and broke my arm. What followed has been a journey not just of physical healing but of managing pain, adjusting to my body’s weakened state and finding a new balance. At the same time, I’ve been grieving from afar, watching in shock as the United States, my home country, endures one devastating assault after another on what is left of its fragile democracy. I do what I can from abroad––small acts of activism and solidarity––while trying to wear the weight of the world like a loose garment so it doesn’t pull me down. 

Healing from this fractured arm encourages a delicate balance. Listening and leaning into the discomfort, while trying to break the habit of avoiding pain so I don’t get a ‘frozen shoulder.’ Each day, as I heal, boundaries are challenged. Pain has been a profound teacher.

I miss dancing—salsa, tango, bachata, kizomba and more––so much. How I yearn to move freely again, to dive into long practice sessions with my guitar and ukulele and to not need help. The patience required to be a good patient can be overwhelming. 

Yesterday, doing my arm exercises, something unexpected happened. A wave of emotion hit me, and I was overcome with tears. At first, I hesitated. Was I safe to let go? But once I did and the water trapped inside me began to flow, like a weight lifted from my chest. What a relief. 

It reminded me of my early teaching days in Oslo, when a student’s singing moved me so deeply that I couldn’t help but cry. He asked me how I allowed myself such vulnerability. Coming from a very emotional family, I never saw tears as something to shy away from. 

After the tears subsided, my pain felt lighter and shifted somehow. The world around me hadn’t changed, but everything felt different. At that moment, the world became a loose garment, and I could breathe easier. 

Spring has arrived here in the Netherlands (where I’m teaching in at the moment), with birds singing, trees beginning to bud, and flowers pushing up from the earth. It’s a reminder of renewal, of cycles of growth that mirror my own. As I continue to heal, I carry with me this unexpected gift of tears: a release that makes room for more—more breath, more space, more lightness.