Picture this… it’s the end of a yoga class, the lights are off and it’s quiet as people lay on their mats meditating and relaxing after class. But the quiet is broken but the unmistakable sniffling of someone crying. That’s me. That’s me on my mat, likely curled up on my side in the fetal position, letting out the tears that have been building up throughout the class.

It’s not the class that was upsetting, the teacher wasn’t mean, and nothing particularly bad has happened to me that day. So why have I found myself holding back a tidal wave of tears for the last 50 minutes?

Talking to my instructors, it seems I’m not the only one. In fact several talk of people who have cried all the way through a class, particularly slower classes like yoga, pilates and BodyBalance. What’s going on?

Reading up on the phenomenon, and thinking about those times that I’ve experienced it, there seems to be a connection between exercise and releasing (consciously or unconsciously) pent up emotion.

That chimes with the idea in yoga that hip opening stretches can release emotion because the hips are where our emotions get blocked up. But I never found hip openers to be anything more than that, stretches for my hips…

But I can recognise that idea in the muscles between my ribs. I know when I’m fighting to hold my emotions in check because those muscles become tight, like I’m invisibly wrapping my arms around myself in a hug that’s trying to hold myself together. It’s when I’ve been in a class that releases that tension that I cry.

But I still wasn’t sure why!

Here’s my theory…

Those of us with chronic illness learn to push. We push ourselves to get out of bed, we push past pain, we push through appointments and towards diagnoses. Life with chronic illness can seem like a never-ending quest to keep it all together. We hold back the tears, the anger, the resentment and the fatigue because we don’t have the time or emotional space for it.

It’s like when you hold your breath when you’re doing something painful (like getting an injection), it’s that temporary means of getting through something unpleasant. But you let out that breath when it’s over, usually in a big gush of air.

I exercise almost everyday, whether that’s a walk, some gentle yoga or a class or two. And while I love high intensity workouts that get the blood flowing, the heart rate up and the lungs burning for their invigorating power, it’s the slow classes that get me emotional. It’s then that I find that slow stretch and release that ends in tears.

It makes me think, maybe crying at the gym isn’t a bad thing. Certainly I’ve never felt judged or criticised for crying, quite the opposite, instructors and fellow classmates have shown nothing but loving kindness. Maybe it’s a reflection of the work I’ve put in to keeping going, day after day, with the burden of chronic illness hanging over me. Maybe that release of tears is actually positive, even if it’s borne out of a class that was a massive struggle. Could it be that it’s a sign that I need to ease up, take some time to look after myself, to do what it takes to feel restored and resilient enough emotionally to fight another day?

So I’ve been turning my public cry-fests into opportunities to question myself about what’s going on. Do I need a couple of quiet days at home to recharge? Do I need to express how I’m feeling or what I’m thinking to the loved ones around me? Do I need to ask for help?

Now I embrace those days, that journey I’m on. Now I know those tears signal an emotional release I probably really need, but maybe don’t know is building up.I have learned to cry at the gym!