Today I Cried, and I Stayed
Why That Matters
This afternoon, I was watching a show.
A simple moment. A scene of heartbreak.
And suddenly, I felt it.
Emotion rising in my chest. Tears forming. Something deep beginning to stir.
So I cried.
But this time was different.
I didn’t panic.
I didn’t try to stop it.
I didn’t distract myself.
I didn’t shame myself for being “too sensitive.”
I didn’t collapse into it either.
I stayed.
As the tears came, I whispered to myself:
“I am safe in my body.
I am safe as I release this grief.
I am safe as this moves through me.”
And I meant it.
That moment, simple as it may seem, is something many people have never been taught how to experience safely. Not because they are broken, but because they were never taught how to feel safely inside themselves.
What does it mean to feel safe in your body?
Feeling safe in your body does not mean you never feel pain.
It means you trust yourself enough to stay present when pain arises.
It looks like:
- Being able to cry without fear
- Feeling emotions without becoming overwhelmed
- Staying present instead of dissociating
- Listening to your body instead of overriding it
- Resting without guilt
- Being with yourself instead of escaping yourself
- Allowing emotion to move without needing to fix it.
It is the difference between:
“I feel something and I am in danger”
and
“I feel something and I am still safe.”
Many people live disconnected from their bodies without realizing it. We are taught to push through, stay productive, stay strong, stay composed. We are rarely taught how to stay with ourselves when something hurts.
So we hold our breath.
We tense our bodies.
We numb out.
We scroll.
We intellectualize.
We distract.
We leave ourselves.
Not because we are weak,
but because at some point, it did not feel safe to stay.
Why this matters more than we think
When we do not feel safe in our bodies, emotions can feel overwhelming or frightening. Tears feel dangerous. Stillness feels uncomfortable. Vulnerability feels threatening.
But when safety is built within the nervous system, something beautiful begins to happen.
Grief can move without consuming us.
Emotion can flow without destabilizing us.
Tears become cleansing instead of scary.
The body becomes a home instead of something we must escape from.
That is not regression.
That is healing.
Today was not a breakdown.
It was integration.
The tears came in waves.
They moved.
They softened.
They passed.
And I remained grounded throughout.
This is what real healing often looks like. Not dramatic. Not chaotic. Not performative. Just honest emotion moving through a body that finally feels safe enough to allow it.
If you have ever experienced tears “coming out of nowhere,” or emotions surfacing when you least expect them, it does not mean something is wrong. Often, it means something old is finally finding space to release.
And if you have never felt safe enough to stay present with your emotions, know this:
that capacity can be built.
Gently.
Over time.
With compassion and support.
You are not broken.
You are not too much.
You are not behind.
Sometimes the deepest healing simply begins here:
“I am safe to feel.”
If this resonates with you, you are not alone.
This is the kind of healing I hold space for in my work: grounded, gentle, embodied, and paced by your nervous system, not pressure.
You are welcome to explore my offerings, or simply remain connected here if that feels supportive.
Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash
© 2026 • Charmaine Cheryle | The Modern Babaylan