Tears are powerful, but do you know what's more impactful? The struggle to hold them back. This post is for all your hard-hearted stoic characters who'd never shed a tear before another, and aims to help you make them breakdown realistically.
Heavy Eyelids, Heavy Heart Your character's eyelids feel weighted, as if the tears themselves are dragging them down. Their vision blurs—not quite enough to spill over, but enough to remind them of the dam threatening to break.
The Involuntary Sniffle They sniffle, not because their nose is running, but because their body is desperately trying to regulate itself, to suppress the wave of emotion threatening to take over.
Burning Eyes Their eyes sting from the effort of restraint, from the battle between pride and vulnerability. If they try too hard to hold back, the whites of their eyes start turning red, a telltale sign of the tears they've refused to let go.
The Trembling Lips Like a child struggling not to cry, their lips quiver. The shame of it fuels their determination to stay composed, leading them to clench their fists, grip their sleeves, or dig their nails into the nearest surface—anything to regain control.
The Fear of Blinking Closing their eyes means surrender. The second their lashes meet, the memories, the pain, the heartbreak will surge forward, and the tears will follow. So they force themselves to keep staring—at the floor, at a blank wall, at anything that won’t remind them of why they’re breaking.
A Steady Gaze & A Deep Breath To mask the turmoil, they focus on a neutral object, inhale slowly, and steel themselves. If they can get through this one breath, they can get through the next.
Turning Away to Swipe at Their Eyes When they do need to wipe their eyes, they do it quickly, casually, as if brushing off a speck of dust rather than wiping away the proof of their emotions.
Masking the Pain with a Different Emotion Anger, sarcasm, even laughter—any strong emotion can serve as a shield. A snappy response, a bitter chuckle, a sharp inhale—each is a carefully chosen defence against vulnerability.
Letting your character fight their tears instead of immediately breaking down makes the scene hit harder. It shows their internal struggle, their resistance, and their need to stay composed even when they’re crumbling.
This is written based off of personal experience as someone who goes through this cycle a lot (emotional vulnerability who?) and some inspo from other books/articles
“I don’t trust words anymore. I only trust actions. People can pretend to do a lot without beeing serious about it.”
— Moritz Fer
When fear, dread, or guilt gets sickening—literally—your character is consumed with a gut-clenching feeling that something is very, very wrong. Here's how to write that emotion using more than the classic "bile rose to the back of their throat".
This isn’t just about discomfort. It’s about a complete rebellion happening inside their body.
Their stomach twists like a knot that keeps pulling tighter
A cold sweat beads on their neck, their palms, their spine
Their insides feel sludgy, like everything they’ve eaten is suddenly unwelcome
They double over, not from pain, but because sitting still feels impossible
Vomiting isn’t just a stomach reaction—it’s the whole body.
Their mouth goes dry, and then too wet
Their jaw tightens, trying to contain it
A sudden heat blooms in their chest and face, overwhelming
The back of their throat burns—not bile, but the threat of it
Breathing becomes a conscious effort: in, out, shallow, sharp
Nausea doesn’t always need a physical cause. Tie it to emotion for more impact:
Fear: The kind that’s silent and wide-eyed. They’re frozen, too sick to speak.
Guilt: Their hands are cold, but their face is flushed. Every memory plays like a film reel behind their eyes.
Shock: Something just snapped inside. Their body registered it before their brain did.
Don’t just describe the nausea—show them reacting to it.
They press a fist to their mouth, pretending it’s a cough
Their knees weaken, and they lean on a wall, pretending it’s just fatigue
They excuse themselves quietly, then collapse in a bathroom stall
They swallow, again and again, like that’ll keep everything down
Even if they don’t actually throw up, the aftermath sticks.
A sour taste that won’t leave their mouth.
A pulsing headache
A body that feels hollowed out, shaky, untrustworthy
The shame of nearly losing control in front of someone else
A character feeling like vomiting is vulnerable. It's real. It’s raw. It means they’re overwhelmed in a way they can’t hide. And that makes them relatable. You don’t need melodrama—you need truth. Capture that moment where the world spins, and they don’t know if it’s panic or flu or fear, but all they want is to get out of their own body for a second.
Don't just write the bile. Write the breakdown.