And yet, in today’s world, pain often finds its way online before it finds its way into healing.

A broken heart becomes a post.

 A tear becomes content.

 Sadness becomes a status.

But let me ask you this — when was the last time you simply let yourself feel, without telling the world?

I've had my share of tears.

 Silent ones.

 Frustrated ones.

 Lonely ones.

After my stroke, I didn't need sympathy — I needed space.

 Space to breathe.

 Space to fall apart.

 Space to slowly, gently put myself back together again.

It wasn’t easy.

 Some nights felt endless.

 Some mornings were too quiet.

 But I held onto the smallest thing I could find — hope. And that, little by little, carried me forward.

“If you want to cry, use a tissue paper. Not a status.”

 It’s not a criticism.

 It’s a reminder.

 A reminder that you don’t have to prove your pain to be worthy of support.

 You don’t need to package your hurt for the world to validate your healing.

Sometimes, the most powerful moments happen in private.

 When no one sees your tears, but you still choose to rise.

 When no one hears your sobs, but you still find your voice.

There is strength in vulnerability.

 But there is also strength in quiet resilience.

 In wiping your tears.

 In taking a deep breath.

 In whispering to yourself, “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

And when you're ready to share your story —

 Do it not to seek pity,

 but to offer light.

The world needs more people who’ve walked through the fire and still carry warmth in their hearts.

So yes, cry if you must.

 Break if you need to.

 But don’t feel you have to make a performance of your pain.

You’re not a post.

 You’re a person.

 And your healing deserves more than likes — it deserves love.

This is my favorite book.

 The one I’m still writing — page by page, with truth, tears, and courage.

 And I hope, somehow, it helps you write yours too.