Breaking Down and Leveling Up: Crying, Laughing, and Cry-Laughing

Life doesn’t come with an instruction manual, and if it did, I’m pretty sure mine got lost somewhere between the “Stay Calm” chapter and the “You’ve Got This” appendix. There have been moments when I felt like I was breaking down in slow motion—a messy, emotional unraveling that seemed to come out of nowhere and take hold like a tornado in my chest. But, weirdly enough, those moments also turned out to be the times I leveled up in ways I never expected.

It all started when everything in my life felt like it was crashing at once. The job that once thrilled me became a tedious grind that sucked the enthusiasm right out of me. My friendships felt shallow, like I was the only one still showing up, still caring. And worst of all, there was the constant buzzing in my head—the anxiety that turned tiny worries into full-blown catastrophes. The exhausting loop of overthinking, second-guessing, and, let’s be honest, crying in my car more times than I want to admit.

One evening, after a particularly rough day, I found myself sobbing on the couch—the kind of crying that’s both cleansing and terrifying. The kind where your whole body shakes, and you don’t even know why. It felt like my world was cracking open, and I was tumbling inside the pieces. At that moment, I thought, “This is it. I’m done.” But funny enough, in that complete breakdown, something shifted.

The next morning, bleary-eyed but determined, I made a decision. I wasn’t going to let the chaos win. Instead, I would lean into the mess. I started by laughing at the ridiculousness of my situation. Because honestly? Sometimes life’s hardest moments are downright absurd.

I found myself cracking jokes in therapy sessions, admitting how I’d overanalyzed a text message for three hours or how I’d Googled symptoms and convinced myself I had a rare disease (spoiler alert: I didn’t). Laughter became my unexpected ally—a way to soften the sharp edges of my anxiety and exhaustion.

But crying? That wasn’t going anywhere. Sometimes, it showed up uninvited during meetings, in the middle of a crowded street, or just before I fell asleep. I learned to let it happen without shame, understanding that breaking down was part of breaking through.

And then came the cry-laughing moments—the awkward intersections where humor and heartbreak collide. Like when my best friend and I sat on the floor eating ice cream straight from the tub, sharing stories of our worst days, laughing until tears blurred our vision. Or when I tripped over my own feet in front of a crowd and just laughed it off because, well, what else could I do?

These moments of vulnerability became milestones. Each breakdown was a clearing out of old fears, and each burst of laughter was a patch on my cracked armor. I realized that leveling up didn’t mean being perfect or having it all figured out. It meant showing up, messy and imperfect, and moving forward anyway.

I started setting boundaries, saying no without guilt, and prioritizing my mental health like it was a non-negotiable appointment. I surrounded myself with people who made me feel seen and safe, and I let go of those who drained my energy. I began practicing gratitude for the small wins—the days I got out of bed on time, the moments I spoke kindly to myself, the nights I slept without panic.

Breaking down became less scary when I recognized it as part of growth. It was a sign that I was shedding old layers and making space for new strength. Sometimes the path forward was jagged and uncertain, but it was mine.

Now, when life throws curveballs, I still cry. I still laugh until my stomach hurts. And sometimes, I do both at the same time. But I do it all with a new sense of resilience and humor, knowing that every tear and every chuckle is a step in my journey of leveling up.

So here’s to breaking down, to laughing through the chaos, and to cry-laughing our way to the best versions of ourselves—one beautifully imperfect moment at a time.