When the Boy Finally Cried
June 01, 2025
This time, the tears didn’t come from the man holding it all together — but from the boy who finally felt safe enough to feel.
I was walking behind a couple this morning — arms linked, quietly connected. Not loud. Not performative. Just there. A kind of simple, steady companionship.
And I felt it — envy.
Not the bitter kind.
Not the kind that says, “They shouldn’t have that.”
But the kind that quietly whispers, “I want that too.”
It wasn’t about the display — it was about what it represented:
Acceptance. Presence. Being chosen, without needing to be earned.
And as I kept walking, something else rose up. A kind of ache.
Not just from the man in me — but from the boy.
🌫️ “Big Boys Don’t Cry”
That old script came up almost automatically.
Even now, after all the healing, part of me still wants to explain away my emotion. To clarify:
“These aren’t deep, uncontrollable sobs. Just a silent weep. Nothing dramatic.”
But I know what that is — it’s my ego, still trying to protect the boy from being shamed.
The truth is:
These tears weren’t weakness.
They were release.
A soft grieving for the love I never got.
👦 The Boy Who Wasn’t Allowed to Feel
It’s not that I’ve never cried. I’ve cried on runs. In therapy. In quiet moments at home.
But lately, I’ve realized — it’s not always me crying.
Sometimes, it’s the younger part of me — the boy who wasn’t held.
The one who had to grow up too soon.
The one who thought that staying quiet, staying small, staying strong would somehow keep him safe.
And now, when tears come, I don’t just feel sadness.
I feel recognition.
Like something buried is finally being witnessed.
🕊️ A Different Kind of Strength
I don’t want to be the kind of man who holds everything in.
I don’t want to be admired for how much I can carry without breaking.
I want to be real — even when it’s raw. Even when it’s tender.
Because that boy in me never stopped needing love.
He just stopped expecting it.
And now, when I cry, I’m not ashamed.
I’m proud.
Because it means he’s still here.
Still feeling.
Still hoping.
And maybe that’s what healing really is:
Letting the boy finally cry —
and letting the man finally listen.