The Strength In Tears

Are we any less of a man if we force ourselves not to cry? Naturally, we cry when we are overwhelmed with joy or sorrow. Only a lifeless body remains incapable of shedding tears, for it no longer possesses the sentience that defines human existence. But what then are we if we choose to suppress our tears? There are only two possible answers: Either we are already dead in spirit, or we have deliberately fashioned ourselves into something less human—like brutes.

The dead and the brute are alike in one regard—they lack the capacity for emotion, for they have long since abandoned the depth of human feeling. But can we truly become brutes while still alive? The answer is no—not by nature, but sometimes by choice. Pride can push us to deny our vulnerabilities, convincing us that tears are shameful, that to cry is to surrender power. Yet this illusion is the birthplace of pride in its most destructive form—the kind that builds walls between ourselves and authenticity, between ourselves and grace.

It is false to believe that crying signifies weakness. On the contrary, tears reveal the raw truth within—the unguarded sanctuary of our deepest emotions. When we cry, we unveil a part of ourselves untouched by pretense—the space where love, loss, longing, and healing reside.

Truth is painful, and so it wounds us before it refines us. But truth does not hurt us without purpose; it breaks us open so that we may be cleansed of the burdens that harden the heart. It is through neglect, through denial, through the reluctance to confront pain that we become distant from our own humanity. The refusal to cry does not make us stronger—it only creates stagnation, trapping our emotions beneath layers of unresolved grief.

Siltation occurs when we allow past wounds to accumulate unchecked, building up within until our hearts grow as rigid as stone. And when the heart is hardened, moving forward becomes nearly impossible. One who is silted can no longer return to the freshness of being—the purity of innocence, the willingness to love freely, the openness to feel deeply. In such a state, crying becomes shameful, reduced to an act only for the fragile. But is that truly the case?

Personally, I believe that to cry is to embrace one’s truth. To deny oneself the freedom to weep is to carry an unnecessary burden, suffocating the soul beneath the weight of pride. A heart that refuses to weep is a heart closed off from healing. And when barriers are placed between the self and its own emotions, the journey to self-awareness becomes distant, hindered by obstacles that were never meant to exist.

The simplest way to affirm one’s authenticity is to cry when sorrow demands it. To grieve when grief calls. To allow pain to flow through the natural cleansing of tears. I invite everyone to embrace this process—not as weakness, but as renewal. Let our tears be the gentle rain that washes away the burdens of yesterday, guiding us back to our truest selves.

For when we return to the essence of who we are—the childlike purity that welcomes emotion without shame—we also return to something greater: the favor of God, who has always cherished a heart willing to feel. I am reminded of the words of Bishop Medroso when asked about the difference between ordinary men and criminals. He simply replied: "Ay, pareha ra sad na sila nato—mohilak ug masakitan." ("They are just like us—they cry and feel pain.")

And indeed, such is the truth. We are all human, each carrying sorrow, joy, and the need for release. Crying does not make us less; it makes us whole.