When I was little, I always thought crying was a sign of weakness.
I avoided doing it, trying as hard as I could to keep it inside or aside.

Then, I thought it was a tool for manipulation and I didn’t want to be seen as being manipulative, so I cried solo. In the corner. In the car. In the bath.

When I wasn’t seen.
Not in front of staff. Not in front of friends. Not in front of family. Not in front of anyone.

Then recently, V would encourage me to cry.
He could tell by the look on my face that I was bottling it in.

And crying didn’t give me a solution.
It didn’t give me the answers.
Nor did it give me the words I wanted to hear.

But it did give me release.
For the simple fact, that I felt much, much, much better once it was out.

I think we embrace laughter and smiles.
We see happiness as a good thing to express.

And we see anger and sorrow as a bad thing to express.

But what if we accepted that without darkness, light ceases to exist.
Light needs the darkness to actually come into being.

And so.

I embrace the tears.
The darkness of the night.
And the anger.

Expressing it openly, albeit carefully.
Because I know my words can sting.

Just to be free from it.
From that binding emotion.

And to start the release.

Which lets the light flood in.