Sit With Me Awhile

For a long time, I measured my days in tears.

Some days they came before I even got out of bed.
Some days they came quietly in the shower where no one could hear me.
Some days they came in waves I couldn’t control, like my heart had forgotten how to breathe.

I don’t think people talk enough about that part of heartbreak.

Not the dramatic kind you see in movies.
But the quiet kind that follows you through ordinary moments.

The kind where you’re standing in the grocery store and suddenly a memory hits you.
Or when a song comes on that you didn’t realize still had the power to undo you.

For a while, crying was simply part of my day.

And then one day something small happened.

I got through the morning without crying.

I noticed it around lunchtime.
Not because I felt amazing.
Not because everything was suddenly okay.

But because the weight felt… different.

Still there.
Still present.

Just quieter.

That afternoon I kept moving through the day, almost afraid to notice the shift too much.

Dinner came.
The sun started to set.

And suddenly I realized something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I had made it through an entire day without crying.

It didn’t mean I was healed.
It didn’t mean the hurt had disappeared.

It just meant something inside me was learning how to breathe again.

Healing doesn’t arrive all at once.

It shows up in small, quiet milestones that almost feel invisible.

An hour where your mind rests.
A morning where the ache isn’t as sharp.
A day where your tears take a break.

And one day those small moments begin to stitch themselves together into something stronger.

So if today is a day where the tears still come easily, please hear this:

That doesn’t mean you’re weak.

It means your heart is processing something real.

And one day — maybe sooner than you think —
you will have your own moment where you pause and realize:

Today, I made it through the whole day.

And that will be enough.