Making My Clients Cry Is My Greatest Joy

Wait—You Like When I Cry?

It happens almost every week.

A mom sits across from me—voice trembling, eyes glistening, holding it together with every last thread of strength she’s got. And then… the tears start to fall. She tries to keep up with wiping them with her hand, maybe a sleeve. She refuses the tissues I sit next to her almost as if it’s a concession to take that white piece of tissue to catch her tears. Then, like clockwork, she kind of laughs and says: “Ugh, I’m so sorry.”

And I smile—genuinely, maybe even with a little sparkle in my eye—and say what I mean with my whole heart:

“Please don’t apologize. This right here? This is my favorite part.”

Now, I know that sounds terrible. But hear me out.

I’m not over here cheering because you’re in pain. I’m not twisted like that. What brings me joy is that you’ve finally laid down the armor. That you let go—just for a moment—and let yourself be fully, beautifully human.

I know what it took to get you here, the pressure you’re under to hold it all together 24/7. I know how many times you’ve swallowed the tears, slapped on a smile, and powered through when what you really needed was to fall apart a little.

So when you cry in session, I don’t see a mess. I see magic. I see trust. I see the moment the real healing begins. And it’s so beautiful. 

Crying in therapy isn’t weakness—it’s courage in action. And honestly? It’s kind of my favorite vibe.

Who Am I?

Hi! I’m MacKenzie, your Self-Care Mompanion. I’m a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and owner of Follow Your Arrow Counseling, LLC.

I specialize in working with Moms and Therapist Moms who are stressed out, overwhelmed and not taking care of themselves as well as they take care of everyone else. Being a Mom is hard. It fills my heart to be able to support Moms through the good and bad days. To normalize that it’s okay to not like being a Mom all the time.

Join me as we walk this road of motherhood together. It truly takes a village to raise our kids and maintain our sanity. It takes a Therapist to help you find yourself again amongst the crowd.

The Unspoken Weight Moms Carry

Let’s just call it like it is: Moms are out here carrying emotional backpacks full of bricks while smiling like everything’s totally fine. You’ve got the mental checklist running 24/7—appointments, permission slips, figuring out how to be in two places at once, snack negotiations, middle-of-the-night wake-ups, and somehow… also remembering to pick up toilet paper and RSVP to a birthday party you don’t even want to go to.

And on top of that? You’re supposed to be calm. Grateful. Pulled together. Oh, and preferably in a cute outfit, too. 

It’s exhausting. And it’s lonely.

Most of the moms I work with have mastered the art of looking like they’re “okay.” They nod and say “I’m fine” while secretly wondering if anyone even sees them. They’ve been holding their breath for years, afraid that if they let go—if they cry, scream, or admit how heavy it really feels—they might just unravel completely.

So they stay buttoned-up. Polished. Put together.

Even in therapy.

Until one day, I hit the right nerve, say the right thing and boom! The tears sneak through. And that’s the moment I know—we’re finally getting to the good stuff.

Underneath all that pressure, all that acting, is a tender, brilliant, deeply human woman who just wants to be held, not judged. And when she lets herself be seen in her realness, that’s when the real healing begins.

What Crying Really Means in Therapy

Here’s the truth: when you cry in session, it’s not a meltdown. It’s not weakness. And it’s definitely not a reason to be embarrassed.

It’s a sign you feel safe.

I don’t take that lightly. In a world that tells moms to suck it up, get over it, and push through, letting your guard down—even in a therapist’s office—can feel terrifying. So when you let those tears out in front of me? I know something sacred is happening.

Crying in therapy isn’t just about sadness. Sometimes it’s grief. Sometimes it’s rage. Sometimes it’s sheer exhaustion, or a moment of finally being seen after years of invisibility. And sometimes, it’s the body’s way of exhaling for the first time in what feels like forever.

What those tears really mean is:
👉 You don’t have to hold it all by yourself anymore.
👉 You’ve found a space where your truth can breathe.
👉 Your nervous system is finally saying, “Okay… I think we can let go now.”

That’s not brokenness. That’s breakthrough.

So yeah, when you cry in session? I’m over here not-so-silently cheering. Not because you’re in pain—but because you finally feel safe enough to be real. And that’s where everything shifts.

The Apology That Doesn’t Belong

If I had a dollar for every time a mom said, “I’m sorry I’m crying,” I’d have a beach house, a book deal, and a personal chef.

But here’s the thing: crying is not something you need to apologize for. Not to me. Not to anyone. You wouldn’t say sorry for laughing. You wouldn’t apologize for breathing. So why the guilt for feeling?

I get it, though. You’ve been taught to be the strong one, the glue, the rock. Maybe you grew up in a house where crying meant drama, weakness, or worse—trouble. So now your default is to apologize the second you feel too much. To shrink your feelings to make everyone else more comfortable.

But you’re not too much. You’re just enough. And your tears? They belong here. They’re welcome. They’re honored.

No apologies necessary.

Tears Are Brave, Not Broken

Let’s be clear: crying in therapy doesn’t mean you’re falling apart. It means you’re finally letting yourself feel.

And that? That’s brave as hell.

It takes serious guts to stop white-knuckling your way through life. To let someone else witness your real, messy, unfiltered truth. That’s the kind of courage most people never access. But when you do? Ohhh, it opens the door to something powerful.

You start to soften. To trust. To actually hear your own needs for once. That’s when the healing begins—not when you’re holding it together, but when you’re letting it go.

So no, I don’t see tears and think “Uh-oh.”
I see them and think “Here we go.”

What I See When You Cry

When you cry in front of me, I don’t see someone lost—I see someone finding their way back to themselves.

I see a warrior who’s finally letting her armor rest. I see a woman who’s done being “fine” and is ready to be free. I see someone stepping into her truth, her power, her healing.

And I don’t take that lightly.

It is the deepest honor of my work to sit with you in that space. To hold the container while you unravel, release, and rebuild. To be the soft landing you’ve deserved for so long.

So yeah—when you cry in session?
I’m not uncomfortable.
I’m not judging you.
I’m not worried.

I’m so proud of you and I can’t wait for you to be able to see yourself how I see you: strong, capable and loving.

A Love Letter to the Moms Who’ve Cried in My Office

To every mom who’s cried on my couch, on a telehealth sesh, or in their car before walking into session: thank you.

Thank you for your vulnerability.
Thank you for your courage.
Thank you for trusting me with the sacredness of your tears.

I know what it costs you to show up like that. And I want you to know: I see you. I honor you. And I’m cheering for the version of you that’s starting to rise.

You are not alone in this. Not now, not ever.

Before You Go: An Invitation to Feel Fully

So if you’ve been holding back…
If you’ve been “fine” for everyone else…
If you’ve been scared that crying means you’re losing control—

Let this be your permission slip to let it out.

Tears are welcome here. Truth is welcome here. You are welcome here.

And when you’re ready to exhale, to release, to come home to yourself—my door is open.