Are you a crier? If so, never apologise for your tears. I’ve cried a river in my lifetime—long, winding, and relentless. As a child, I fought hard not to cry. With three older brothers who mocked me for any sign of weakness, even welling up invited teasing. I learned early to suppress my emotions, holding back my tears. Refusing to give my family the satisfaction of seeing me upset. In our home, crying was a sign of weakness—there was no space for emotions.

But holding it in came at a cost. I grew into an angry, insecure child, hiding behind defense mechanisms to shield myself from pain.

Then, at 11yrs old, I could no longer hold back. My father was diagnosed with motor neuron disease (ALS). I watched him deteriorate—from a strong, protective man to a frail shadow of himself. Within a year, he went from stumbling to using crutches, to crawling on the floor just to change the TV channel, too proud to ask for help. Eventually, he couldn’t cut his food, lift a cup, or use the bathroom alone. At 47, he passed away.

He was my safe haven, the only one who truly saw and heard me. And just like that, he was gone.

His death shattered me. Years followed—of overreacting, people-pleasing, drowning in untamed emotions of loss, abandonmentment, and anger. I cried until I was exhausted. I hated feeling like a victim. It took years of self-work—conscious connected breathing, Emotional Freedom Techniques (EFT), soul-searching, running, and reading—to heal my wounds, my inner child, and my survival instincts.

I still cry, but not as often. Triggers come and go, but I’ve learned to navigate them. My emotional journey has shaped me, making me stronger, more intuitive, and more resilient. I embrace my emotions now—joy, sorrow, heartache, and love—all expanding my capacity for life.

And when I cry, I let my tears fall freely. Because no one else knows the stories they carry.

This is just the beginning—snippets of my life, in honor of a man I never truly got to know, yet who loved me, protected me, and told me, “Anything is possible.”

The man I called Dad.