The tears that flow.

The tears flow continuously, as if I hold a hidden source of infinite water within me.

These tears are proof of the heart inside me begging to be heard.

Each tear holds a story of its own.

A story of a woman held down by the emotional unsafety within the walls of her own home.

A story of a little girl waiting for the chance to breathe again. Waiting for the chance to run again. Waiting for the love she so desperately deserves—the same love she so freely gives to others.

These tears hold the story of a teenager struggling with her self-worth. A teenager who fought every day to keep going, to keep living. A teenager whose tears were never seen and whose cries were hardly ever heard.

These tears hold the story of a young adult trying to find her place in this world while slowly uncovering the truth of her mother's pain. A young adult whose tears marked a season of finally learning to focus on herself, her needs, and the parts of her heart she had neglected for so long.

These tears hold the story of a woman in her mid-twenties who wandered for years before finally beginning to find her way. The story of a girl still bound by the invisible shackles of emotional abuse within her home, yet determined not to let those shackles define her future.

These tears hold the story of a girl who is twenty-six (well, twenty-six and a half, but who's counting?) and who has finally taken the first steps toward the career she once feared she might never find after years of feeling lost.

These tears carry the weight of making sure those around me are okay, at peace, and loved.

These tears carry my mother's years of pain—pain so heavy that at times it feels as though it rests upon my own shoulders.

These tears hold the story of constantly trying to keep the peace, even when it comes at the cost of my own.

These tears hold the story of that little girl and the twenty-six-year-old woman she became—both fighting every day to keep going, to keep believing, and to keep hoping for a better tomorrow.

Yet these tears represent more than water flowing down one's cheeks.

They are proof that whether she is alone or surrounded by those she loves and those who love her, she will always rise again.

She will always gather the broken pieces of her heart and put them back together.

Those tears are proof that she has flaws, that she is far from perfect, and, most importantly, that she is human.

Those tears are proof that no matter what the world may think, having a sensitive heart is not a weakness. It never was.

It is the greatest strength she possesses.

Because, despite everything she has endured, she still chooses to love.

She still chooses to hope.

She still chooses to care.

And in a world that often hardens people, she has somehow managed to keep her heart soft.

These tears that flow are mine.

And I am no longer ashamed of them.