Crying at Work

In corporate life, we reward composure and punish emotion. But tears can be data, not drama.

Before we jump into crying at work (fun topic!), check out the new dates listed for my Work Pause hour-long workday retreat in November and December! This is probably the last time these will be free, so grab your spot!

I’ve cried at work maybe half a dozen times in twenty-five years.
Always against my will.
Often in front of someone I didn’t mean to let see.

And if we’re counting the times I cried behind a closed door, after a meeting, with my Zoom camera off, with a work bestie after hours, or in my car in the parking lot, the number goes way up.

For most of my career, I thought being professional meant staying composed no matter what. I was intensely embarrassed to cry in front of a leader I respected or was trying to impress.

What I would tell my 30-year old self is that tears at work are not weakness. They aren’t even necessarily sadness. Tears can come from frustration, anger, rage, exhaustion, relief, deep care, or the sharp edge of being misunderstood. They can show up when you’ve been holding too much for too long, or when something true finally slips through your defenses. They’re a signal to listen.

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When anger leaks out

One of those moments was the year my CEO, someone I genuinely admired, hired an asshole CMO above me. I could have handled that part (I wasn’t ready for the job and didn’t even want it). What I couldn’t handle was how that new leader treated my team. I was watching people I cared about be belittled, burned out, and second-guessed.

I held it together for weeks. I kept my tone calm, my face neutral, my voice even. Then, at a company all-hands, I got wind that the CMO had been advocating for a promotion for a very junior person in another department while telling me I wasn’t ready for a promotion to senior director.

After a few months of this, I went into my CEO’s office just before heading to the airport. Sitting across from him, my fury caught up with me. The tears came before I could stop them. I remember sobbing and insisting, “I’m not sad, I’m really angry at the CMO and at you for letting this happen!”

(Side note: the CMO got fired that afternoon. For YEARS, I thought it was my conversation with the CEO that was the catalyst for his dismissal. I felt very powerful and even a little guilty. I only realized much later that it was clearly already in the works - you don’t fire a CMO on a whim because a director cries in your office. I also -years later- asked that CEO if he thought less of me for crying. He had managed hundreds or maybe thousands of people over his career in IT and SaaS and said he couldn’t count the number of times people had cried in his office, and it didn’t make him think less of them at all. In fact, that CEO continued to promote me and even hired me again later at another job.)

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Tears of shame

Another time, I cried after being called out for a mistake in front of colleagues. It wasn’t the end of the world, but I felt exposed and humiliated. The tears came from embarrassment, not fragility. I cared deeply about being seen as competent. I still do.

I was embarrassed by my mistake (the criticism was fair, even if not delivered in the kindest way), and then I was 10x more embarrassed to be tearing up in front of everyone.

Ugh. I can still call up that feeling, and it was terrible. Those particular tears were not in front of safe or empathetic people.

If you’ve never seen the Flight of the Conchords video I’m Not Crying, watch it now and thank me later.

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Exhausted tears

Are you enjoying this stroll through the past moments when I lost my shit at work? Here’s one more for you. I was in a toxic situation with another coworker - someone who made every interaction feel like walking through a minefield. I was just so tired of trying to make it work. I was tired of it taking up so much of my time and attention.

I was on a Zoom call with two colleagues, discussing the situation and how to handle it. I didn’t feel like they had my back, and none of us knew how to make it better. I didn’t sob or weep, but my eyes just started to leak and I started to sniffle. I know they saw it.

I didn’t want to leave the company. I cared about the work. But I could feel myself running out of options, out of patience, out of energy. So I cried. Not because I wanted sympathy or attention, but because I had reached the edge of what I could carry alone.

That moment didn’t solve anything, but it cracked something open. It made clear what was unsustainable, and that I couldn’t fix it by being quieter, nicer, or tougher. Sometimes the tears are the thing that finally tells the truth.

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The truth about tears and gender and power

Now let’s tell the truth. A lot of colleagues and bosses will look down on you for crying at work. They will think you are less professional, less in control. That’s still the culture most of us work in.

But you can be a different kind of boss. And you can seek out leaders who don’t see emotion as incompetence.

I’ve watched men rage at work. . . slam doors, curse, interrupt, shout . . . and still be seen as powerful. I once worked with a senior leader who told one of his lieutenants to “fuck off” in the middle of a minor disagreement, and no one called him emotional. I watched two male executives get into a shouting match over lunch about a strategy decision, and not a single person doubted their ability to lead.

(It should be noted here that if women feel shitty about crying at work, I think it’s even harder for men to be allowed to show that kind of emotional range in a professional setting.)

When women cry, we’re called emotional. When men rage, it’s leadership.
We still live in a world that punishes tenderness and rewards aggression. And tears aren’t even necessarily tenderness!

But it doesn’t have to stay that way. Every time you choose to stay human at work, you’re quietly undoing that system.

Even so, I have to tell the truth: I would still rather not cry at work. The fear of exposure and judgment runs that deep in me. Maybe it’s my generation. I’m Gen X, raised to keep it together, to show no cracks. I imagine Boomer women learned that lesson even more harshly. I sometimes wonder if Millennials and Gen Z will do it differently . . . if they’ll build workplaces where tears aren’t proof of weakness, but simply proof that a person still feels.

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Tears as information

What I know now is that crying at work isn’t a failure of professionalism. It’s information. It’s the body saying, something here matters more than you’ve admitted.

Tears can signal grief, frustration, anger, or care. They can mean you’re out of alignment, or at capacity, or facing something you don’t yet have language for.

I know that sometimes my body knows before my mind does. Tears are data.

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A small invitation

If you need a place where it’s safe to bring your whole self to work, even for an hour, you’re welcome at The Work Pause.

It’s a free 60-minute workday retreat where busy leaders take a breath, write for a while, and reconnect with what’s underneath the noise.

There’s a moment in every single session I’ve done when someone stops performing, says something true, and tears come. No one rushes to fix it. No one looks away. We just let it be.

It’s one of my favorite parts of the work. Not because crying is the goal, but because it’s a sign that something fundamental has surfaced. It’s relief. It’s honesty. It’s connection. When one person tears up, it gives everyone else permission to as well.

And it happens in a space that’s safe enough for it.
Not in front of their boss. Not in a meeting where the power dynamics are unclear.

Maybe composure isn’t the ultimate goal?

If you’ve ever cried at work or swallowed the lump in your throat until it hurt ask yourself:

• What was that emotion trying to say?

• What needed to be seen that wasn’t?

• Who in your world has earned the right to see you unfiltered?

We talk about “holding it together” as if that’s the mark of a strong leader. But sometimes the real strength getting comfortable with not knowing what to do next.

Crying at work doesn’t mean you’ve lost control.
It just means something true has surfaced, and you haven’t yet decided what to do with it.

Work with Me

If you’re navigating the messy, magical, sometimes overwhelming transitions of your company, GTM strategy, and/or professional life, I’d love to support you. Most leaders have plenty of hustle, what they need is support.

I work with visionary founders and GTM leaders on go-to-market strategy, leadership, clarity, and growth. I’d love to chat about what you need.

I offer:

• Fractional CMO leadership

• GTM Advisory for founders and sales and marketing leaders

• Executive coaching

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