I Cried In Front Of You For The First Time

I wish I’d done it sooner

I used to believe that tears were my kryptonite, a vulnerability I couldn’t afford to expose to the world.

Crying, in my book, was a sign of weakness.

The irony, however, is that I, despite my conviction against it, am someone who cries a lot.

Of course, I cry when I’m sad, but I also cry when I’m happy, angry, frustrated, overwhelmed… you name it.

I cry over movies.

I also cry over songs. Songs like Saturn by Sleeping At Last and Nothing Compares 2 U by Sinéad O’Connor always have me sobbing.

But here’s the kicker: I hate others seeing me cry.

My safe place became the four walls of my bedroom.

Behind that closed door, I unleashed the torrents of my heart, the tears flowing freely like a river of pent-up feelings.

It was a secret symphony of sorrow, a cathartic dance that only the solitude of my room bore witness to.

I was resolute — never would I let anyone I knew, not even my parents, see me cry.

I felt embarrassed, and whenever I cried, I couldn’t talk.

The words I so desperately wanted to express got tangled in the knots of my sobs, and my feelings found release only through the silent language of tears.

It was as if my vulnerability held me hostage, preventing me from being heard when I needed it the most.

And then, I met you.

It happened in a blink of an eye — a moment of unexpected sorrow that knocked the wind out of my sails.

My tear-proof walls fell down and I cried in front of someone for the first time.

That someone was you — a soul who didn’t shoot me judgmental looks or a pitiful gaze.

Instead, you looked at me with a precious blend of empathy and understanding.

For the time first time ever, I didn’t try to suppress my tears and I didn’t try to put on a strong facade.

You encouraged me to talk about my feelings and you were willing to listen.

In that vulnerable moment, as the tears streamed down my face, I felt a profound liberation. It was like shedding the weight of an invisible burden I had carried for so long.

You didn’t see weakness; you saw a human being navigating her crazy storm of emotions.

Your quiet presence became a safe haven, and as I poured my heart out, I felt an unexpected strength in my vulnerability.

The walls crumbled, and in their ruins, we found a connection deeper than words could express.

Meeting you became a turning point.

I learnt that tears aren’t a sign of frailty, but a beautiful release that sets free.

Your understanding gaze was like a permission slip — permission to be me, unfiltered and real.

It’s a reminder that sometimes, true strength is about owning our emotions and connecting with those who see us as nothing less than authentically human.