Growing up, I was taught that boys don’t cry.
So I swallowed my feelings.
Bit my tongue.
Made myself the safe space for everyone else, but never for myself.
Because I saw the pain behind the masks people wear.
And I wanted to fix it.
I wanted to be the person they needed.
But here’s what I learned the hard way:
When you have a heart that’s three sizes too big, your empathy for others can’t be greater than the empathy you have for yourself.
That realization changed everything.
The floodgates opened.
The tears fell.
My voice rose.
And creativity spilled from the cracks–where I once held myself together for the sake of others.
I’m healing out loud.
Because on the other side of those difficult conversations is freedom.
Say the hard thing—even if it’s messy.
Even if it makes you uncomfortable.
Even if it makes you the villain in their story.
Because the love, support, and understanding that you give so freely–you deserve it too.
