Those who weep recover more quickly than those who smile.

Listen well, O children of the future, to the profound words of Jean Giraudoux: "Those who weep recover more quickly than those who smile." At first glance, these words may seem to suggest a paradox, as we are often told that strength lies in suppressing our emotions, in wearing a smile through life’s trials. Yet Giraudoux speaks to a deeper truth—one that the ancients knew well. Tears, though often seen as a sign of weakness, are in fact a source of healing. Through weeping, we release the emotional weight we carry, and it is through this release that we begin the journey of recovery. A smile may mask our pain, but it does not allow us to confront and overcome it. Weeping, on the other hand, brings us face to face with the heart of our suffering, and in that confrontation, we find the path to healing.

In the ancient world, O children, heroes and gods were often depicted not as emotionless beings, but as deeply connected to their feelings. Achilles, the mighty Greek warrior, wept when he lost his beloved friend Patroclus, for in that moment of grief, he was reminded of his humanity. Hector, the Trojan prince, wept at the thought of leaving his wife and son behind, knowing that his fate on the battlefield was sealed. These were not signs of weakness, but of a vulnerability that made their heroism all the more powerful. Through their tears, they were able to connect with something deeper than the external struggles they faced—the truth of their souls, which lay in their love, their loss, and their longing. Giraudoux’s words remind us that it is not the suppression of our emotions, but the embrace of them, that leads to strength.

Consider, O children, the great tragedy of King Lear, who, in Shakespeare's play, is undone by his own pride and blindness. When Lear finally weeps, he does not weep for his kingdom or his lost power, but for his own blindness—his inability to see the love and loyalty of his daughter Cordelia until it was too late. It is in his tears that Lear begins to find his clarity, his humanity, and the realization that suffering and vulnerability are inseparable from wisdom. In his tears, he begins the painful but necessary journey toward understanding and redemption. Weeping, in this case, is not a surrender to despair, but a catharsis, a means of purging the soul of the poison that had clouded his judgment.

We see this truth reflected in the life of Nelson Mandela, who, after spending 27 years in prison, finally wept as he walked out into the light of freedom. His tears were not a sign of defeat, but of relief—the release of years of suffering, the weight of a long struggle finally coming to an end. Mandela's ability to weep openly, to acknowledge his pain, was part of what made him an extraordinary leader. His tears did not diminish him; they humanized him, showing that even the strongest of hearts must sometimes be broken open in order to heal and continue the fight. In this way, his weeping was not weakness but the beginning of a new strength, forged in the fire of his trials.

Giraudoux’s words also speak to a truth about healing—that it is not linear, nor is it a process that can be rushed. The person who smiles through their pain may avoid confronting their emotions, but in doing so, they prolong their suffering. It is only by acknowledging our pain, by allowing ourselves to weep, that we begin the process of moving forward. Just as a wound must be cleaned and treated to heal properly, so too must our emotional wounds be faced. Weeping is the catharsis that allows us to confront what we have been through and to begin the work of putting the pieces of ourselves back together. Smiling, in contrast, can be a mask that keeps the wound hidden, preventing it from ever truly healing.

The lesson here, O children, is one of truth and release. Do not fear your emotions, and do not hide from your pain. Weeping is not a weakness; it is a form of release and renewal. Just as the greatest heroes of myth and history confronted their struggles with vulnerability, so too must you confront the challenges of your own life. It is through honesty—with yourself and others—that you find your true strength. When you allow yourself to weep, you free yourself from the burden of unacknowledged grief, and in that release, you find clarity and the ability to move forward.

In your own lives, O children, remember that healing is not a process to be rushed. Allow yourselves to feel deeply, to weep when the heart is heavy, and to face the pain that comes with loss, fear, or disappointment. It is through this act of vulnerability that you will find your way to wholeness. And just as the greatest heroes of old emerged stronger from their moments of weakness, so too will you rise—stronger, wiser, and more connected to the deep truth of your soul. Remember: weeping is the path to recovery, and those who embrace it will recover more swiftly than those who hide behind a mask of smiles.