Cry all you want; you'll pee less.
Back in my century, Big Girls did not cry, and I was a "big" girl -- plump as a pickle, but that's a different story -- so I did not cry. For probably thirty years I did not cry.
But this is a new and improved century. We bring our own bags to grocery stores. We worry about polar bears. We acknowledge feelings and pain and personal crises and emotional losses and the horror of bad hair days. So we all get to cry, big and small alike.
It may be premenopausal, but some days I feel like all I do is cry. It's not so bad really. It's very cathartic and seems very noble and sincere, and, if I pee less in a day then that's one more time I can stick Marley and Me in the DVD player. (The dog dies! It fucking dies I tell you!) Has anybody got a Kleenex?