Let the Tears Fall: Embracing Sensitivity as Strength
Let the Tears Fall: Embracing Sensitivity as Strength
There’s this memory tucked into my childhood that quietly lives in the back of my mind: the realization that I didn’t cry much. Not as an infant. Not as a young girl. I kept things together—or so I thought.
My first real cry didn’t come until I was around 12 or 13 years old. The moment is crystal clear: I liked an older boy. Thought he liked me too. Then came the sting—he got a girlfriend. Something about that moment shattered a part of me I didn’t know existed. The tears came and, with them, a new side of me emerged.
From that point on, music became a vessel for my emotions. Songs like “I’m Your Puppet”, “Always and Forever”, and “Angel Baby” stirred something deep inside me. It wasn’t the lyrics alone—it was the ache in the melody, the soul behind the voice, the tone that clung to me like perfume. I became sensitive. Deeply. Emotionally. Unapologetically.
As I’ve grown into the woman I am today, I’ve realized that my tears don’t just visit during heartbreak or loss. They come in conversations that call for empathy. When someone tells me their story. When I watch a news clip that tugs at the human spirit. I used to feel embarrassed. Ashamed even. As if crying made me fragile.
But today, I see it differently.
Crying is not weakness. It’s release. It’s a way of honoring emotion. It is energy in motion. It is a language the heart speaks fluently.
In a world that often demands toughness, especially from women of color—especially from strong women—our softness is often seen as a flaw. But I no longer accept that. I am strong because I feel. I am independent because I embrace all the layers of my being, including the ones that tremble when they feel too much.
To the women reading this: your tears are valid. Your sensitivity is sacred. You don’t need to suppress the part of you that feels deeply. There is incredible power in being moved by a story, by a song, by someone else’s pain or joy. It means you’re alive. It means you still care. It means your spirit is connected to something greater.
I cry during songs. I cry in quiet moments. I cry when the world overwhelms me. But I rise afterward—not weaker, but clearer, more grounded, and more myself.
Let’s stop apologizing for being sensitive. Let’s start celebrating it.
Let the tears fall, Chula. And let them water your strength.