🌿 Letting Go Isn’t Weakness: Crying in the Backroom and Standing Back Up

🌿 Letting Go Isn’t Weakness: Crying in the Backroom and Standing Back Up

This morning hit different. I’m at work right now, barely holding it together. Tears keep coming up, and I keep wiping them away before anyone sees. But the truth is: I’m scared. Really scared.

All of this started because I’m trying to do the responsible thing: file bankruptcy so I can get a fresh start. The lawyer needs $400 down, and I don’t have it. So I asked my aunt for help.

She texted me back, basically reminding me of all the times I wasn’t in a good place years ago, and telling me no. It hurt more than I want to admit — because she’s not wrong about the past, but I’m not that person anymore. I’m trying to do better. I am doing better.

It got worse because I know something about her too: she’s been getting VA caregiver money to take care of my grandma — but my grandma doesn’t even live with her. She lives with me and my mom, and we’re the ones who do the actual caregiving every day. It feels wrong. It feels unfair. And it makes me angry, because I don’t want my grandma to be taken advantage of — even though she hasn’t always been kind to me or my mom.

I threatened to report my aunt to the VA, but deep down, I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want her to see that I know what’s going on and that I won’t stay quiet if pushed.

And now, because I still need that money, I’ve decided to sell my 74" Samsung TV and my fireplace TV stand. It feels like tearing out a piece of comfort I built around myself — but right now, it feels more important to get free than to stay comfortable.

While all this is swirling around in my head, I’m at work, trying to act normal, trying not to cry in front of everyone. But maybe it’s okay to cry. Maybe it’s not weakness — maybe it’s what it looks like to keep going when everything feels too heavy.

I’m scared. Really scared. But I’m still here. And that counts for something.

If you’re reading this and you’ve ever been in a backroom at work, quietly crying because life feels impossible: you’re not alone. And crying doesn’t mean you failed — it means you care. It means you’re still fighting.

🍀 Chronicles of a Quiet Fighter
(C) Caleb