When the Tears Come Easy

May 15, 2025

I used to be the guy who kept emotions in check. Not because I didn’t feel, but because I believed that reason had to lead. That’s how I operated: efficient, grounded, and rational. Feelings, mine or anyone else's, were just data points to be considered in a larger equation. They might color the picture, but they didn’t get to hold the brush.

Then came cancer.

Somewhere between the diagnosis and now, something inside me shifted. Maybe it was the chemo, with its ability to scramble hormones and tear through the body's usual rhythms. Maybe it was the emotional shockwave that comes with hearing a doctor speak words you never wanted to hear. Or maybe it’s just what happens when your body is fighting for its life and your soul starts paying closer attention.

Whatever the cause, the truth is this: I’ve become deeply emotional. Not in big, dramatic ways. There’s no cinematic breakdown. No sobbing in corners. It’s quieter than that, more like a sudden wave that rolls in and topples me before I can brace for it.

Sometimes it’s a message from an old friend. Just a line or two that unlocks something I didn’t even know was buried. Sometimes it’s a moment on TV, a memory, a glimpse of something beautiful or sad. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I don’t. But almost always, the emotion hits with the force of a storm surge, fast, deep, and undeniable.

This is new territory for me.

The man I was before would have clocked that moment, cataloged it, and moved on. My own feelings used to be background noise. Now, they’re the full soundtrack. I can’t always explain what triggers it. I can’t always contain it. I’m slowly learning that maybe I don’t have to.

Because this flood of feeling? It isn’t weakness. It’s a kind of truth.

Cancer has stripped away a lot. It’s peeled back the armor I used to wear, exposed the raw, tender places I used to keep protected. Oddly enough, I’m grateful. Because along with the fear and uncertainty, I’ve felt something else, something powerful. Love. Gratitude. Connection. Grace.

These days, I don’t just think about the people in my life. I feel them. I carry their prayers in my chest. I replay their words in my head. Sometimes, the weight of that kindness is exactly what undoes me.

If you’ve sent me a message or held me in your thoughts, thank you. If I didn’t reply, it’s not because it didn’t matter, it’s because it mattered so much I couldn’t find the words. I read every note. I carry every one with me.

This journey is teaching me more than how to endure. It’s teaching me how to be. How to sit with emotion rather than analyze it. How to soften, not harden. How to receive, not just give.

Maybe, most unexpectedly, it’s teaching me about forgiveness.

Forgiveness for others, yes, but also for myself. For the years I kept everything locked down. For the moments I didn’t understand how someone else could break down in tears. For the times I judged vulnerability as weakness.

I see it differently now.

“Slow down, you crazy child…”

That lyric from Vienna echoes in my mind more often now. It reminds me that it’s okay to pause, to feel, to not have everything figured out.

Maybe this isn’t just about surviving cancer.

Maybe it’s about learning to live differently, with an open heart, tear-streaked cheeks, and a little more grace than I used to give myself.