Vulnerability As Strength

User:Francisco Meyer/2023-10-27 The Day My Tears Became a Bridge

Listen, I’m not proud of everything. I used to think showing weakness was the fastest way to get knocked down. I’d swallow my pain like a bullet, stare down anyone who saw me blink. That’s why I never cried when Maya, my six-year-old, got her first solo in the school play. I stood in the back, fists clenched, pretending I didn’t see the tears in her eyes when she tripped on stage. Weak, I told myself. You’re supposed to be strong for her.

But then she ran to me after, muddy shoes and all, and whispered, “Daddy’s crying?” I froze. For the first time in fifteen years, I didn’t hide it. I pulled her close, let the tears fall—hot, messy, real. And she hugged me tighter, saying, “It’s okay, Daddy. I love you when you cry.”

That’s when it hit me: vulnerability isn’t a crack—it’s a bridge. It’s the moment you stop building walls and let someone see you. For me, it wasn’t about being strong for Maya. It was about being human with her. And that changed everything.

Now, when I work with the kids at the youth center, I don’t preach. I show them. When a kid breaks down after a fight, I sit with them. I say, “Yeah, it hurts. I’ve been there. And it’s okay to feel it.” I don’t say, You’re not too far gone—I show them it’s already been done.

You’re not too far gone. Not if you’re willing to let someone see you fall. Not if you’re brave enough to say, I’m scared. I’m hurting. I need help. That’s the only strength that lasts. The kind that doesn’t just save you—it lets you save others.

So if you’re reading this and feel like you’re drowning in shame? Stop hiding. Let the tears fall. Let someone see you. That’s where the real change starts.

— Francisco Meyer, walking a different path

— Sheila Bishop, laughing so I don't cry (and sometimes both)