Why is it so hard to scream when you’re a grown-up?

 Have you ever tried to scream – like, really scream – as an adult?

Recently, I was on a walk-and-talk counselling session with a client who was feeling overwhelmed, burnt out, and like she was holding back a tidal wave of emotion. We’d been talking about stress, emotional bottling, and how her body felt like it was carrying the weight of all the things she couldn’t say out loud.

So I said, with that therapist-ey twinkle,

“What would it feel like just to let it out? Let’s scream.”

We were in a secluded area, no chance of anyone calling emergency services or wondering if a banshee had escaped from a folklore museum. Still, she hesitated. She wanted to. But something in her body braced. She looked at me, eyes wide.

“I can’t.”

So I said:

“Okay. I’ll go first.”

I stood there, channelled my inner warrior… opened my mouth… and out came the most awkward, croaky, slightly wheezy, possibly asthmatic “meh-hhhrgh!”

We both dissolved into laughter.

But the thing is – it was something. And after that? She managed a small yell. Not a full-throttle primal scream, but a crack in the dam.

The grown-up scream freeze

As children, we scream all the time. In joy, in rage, in frustration. They fall on the floor in Tesco because the world isn’t fair. They cry like their hearts are breaking because their biscuit snapped in half.

We, as adults, bottle. We swallow. We fold it all into tension headaches, jaw clenching, emotional withdrawal, and sudden irritability at the dishwasher. Somewhere along the line, we internalise the idea that loud emotion = weakness or danger. That we must “keep it together, " especially in public, at work, and in front of the kids.

Bottled emotions are like flatulence

(Yes, I said it.)

If you hold them in too long, they either leak out at the worst moment or explode when you least expect it.

Screaming, crying, shaking, even stomping your feet – these are all natural bodily responses to stress and emotional overload. They may not always be socially appropriate (please don’t try primal screaming in your next board meeting), but they are part of being human. And ignoring those signals doesn’t make them disappear. It just buries them deeper.

A case study: “Kate”

Kate (not her real name) came to me struggling with workplace stress, parenting pressure and a crumbling marriage. She described herself as “on the edge but frozen.” Nothing came out. She felt emotionally numb.

During one of our outdoor sessions, we explored movement and sound. At first, she laughed at the idea of “expressive walking” (which admittedly sounds like a terrible TikTok trend), but eventually, she joined me in some gentle shaking, sighing, and yes – a muffled scream into the hills.

She later told me:

“That was the first time in months I felt like I had a body, not just a brain in panic mode.”

It wasn’t magic. It didn’t fix everything. But it cracked open the space for feeling again, being in her skin, and moving energy, not just talking about it.

Watching children can unlock the child within

Next time you’re in the park, watch the kids. Notice how freely they move through their emotions. They scream, cry, laugh, bounce – sometimes all in the same five minutes.

Their emotions are honest. They haven’t yet learned to wrap them in shame.

Watching them might help you remember the version you could feel without fear. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll feel the urge to let something out too, even if it’s just a sigh. Or a good groan in the car.

Tips for letting it out (without freaking anyone out)

• Scream in the shower – the water muffles sound beautifully.
• Shout into a pillow – your neighbours will thank you.
• Use movement – shake your hands, stomp your feet, dance badly.
• Write an “unsent letter” – wild, raw, unedited.
• Laugh – hard, even forced laughter often turns real and releases tension.
• Try a therapeutic walk-and-talk – I know someone who’d love to join you...

We don’t always need to talk more. Sometimes, we need to scream more. Gently, safely, and maybe while holding a therapist’s hand in a quiet patch of nature.

Your emotions deserve space, not just words but sound, not just silence but expression.

And if your first scream comes out like a sad duck noise? That’s OK. Mine did too.