Somewhere along the way
we were told to swallow it.

“Be strong.”
“Don’t let them see you cry.”
“Hold it together.”

But our people never feared tears.

Tears were medicine.

When we cried, it wasn’t collapse.
It was release.
It was the body refusing to carry what the spirit could no longer hold.

Crying is what happens
when grief finds its voice.
When love overflows.
When ancestors press too close to the heart.

Sometimes you’re not crying because you’re broken.

You’re crying because you finally feel safe enough
to soften.

Do you know how much strength it takes
to let something leave your body
that you’ve been holding for years?

Tears are water.

And water remembers.

Every tear carries stories —
of boarding schools,
of lost language,
of mothers who endured,
of fathers who stayed silent,
of children who deserved gentleness.

When you cry,
you are not falling apart.

You are washing history through your eyes.

You are letting pain move
instead of letting it harden.

Even the strongest warriors
went to the water.
Even the fiercest leaders
had moments alone with their tears.

Crying does not make you fragile.

It means your heart is still alive.

And in a world that tried to numb us —
that is resistance.

Let it fall.
Let it cleanse.
Let it teach.

Because sometimes the bravest thing you can do
is not fight.

It’s feel.

#AnishinaabeHealing
Art: R.C. Gorman