A Letter To Society: On Sacredness of Being Held

Dear Society,

Last night, I wept.

Not the single-tear-down-the-cheek kind of cinematic cry. I’m talking about the heaving, snot-filled, ugly-but-liberating type of crying. The kind that makes you question whether you should thank the people around you or apologize profusely. I did neither. I just let it happen — and that, in itself, was radical.

But let me start from the beginning. Or perhaps from the river.

Yesterday, I found myself neck-deep in a river with an old friend, celebrating her birthday. No cake, no balloons, just women and a body of water that felt more like a mother than anything I’ve known. I sat still. Eyes open. Eyes closed. The silence was almost loud — like the kind of hush that comes before a revelation.

Something stirred. A feminine presence. She didn’t introduce herself, didn’t need to. She arrived like breath — quiet, invisible, essential.

Later that evening, I was with a small group of people — gentle folk, quiet-hearted, the kind you can sit with in silence without needing to perform your existence. The conversation drifted to mothers. And I felt something tighten inside. My eyes kept looking upward — not in prayer, just trying to hold the tears hostage. (Spoiler: they escaped later.)

I slipped away quietly. Went to another friend’s place. We smoked. Watched stand-up comedy. And I laughed. Oh, how I laughed. Wildly, wildly. That sort of irreverent laughter that shakes things loose. That makes you snort and not care who heard. That reminds you — ah yes — I am still alive.

But when I returned to the group… one hug was all it took. And I crumbled.

The tears came in waves. With mucus. With breath. With old griefs I didn’t even know were on the guest list. No sob story, no dramatic music. Just two men sitting with me. One holding my palms, one rubbing my feet. No fixing. No advice. No “you’re strong, you’ll get through this.” Just presence. Gentle, unafraid presence.

And that’s when it hit me.

This — this is what we’re all aching for. Not solutions. Not philosophies. Just safe spaces to fall apart without judgment.To be held without being told to “be strong.”To soften without shame.

I’ve spent years surviving. Alone. Paying bills, lifting suitcases, fixing water leaks, making 3 a.m. life decisions without a second pair of eyes. The world claps for your independence, until it becomes your prison.

Let me say it plainly:Singlehood is not just freedom. It is also the quiet fatigue of carrying it all.Every damn day. Alone. From changing your gas cylinder to changing your beliefs about whether you’re still lovable.

But last night… something melted. A crust of pseudo-pride I had formed around my softness. A strength I had mistaken for healing. A numbness I had confused for peace.

Turns out, I’m still soft. Always was. Just hid it under layers of “I got this.”(Newsflash: I did not, in fact, ‘got this.’)

And here’s what I realized — not in theory, but in gut, in bone, in tear:

We are not meant to be invincible. We are meant to be human.

Yet you, dear Society, have trained us otherwise.Taught us to silence our feelings. Rewarded us for holding it in. Shamed our tears. Mocked our need to be held. Equated emotional expression with instability. Fed us the myth that vulnerability is weakness.

But what if… and hear me out… what if it’s the other way around?

What if real strength is found in the willingness to cry into someone’s shoulder — and not check how you look while doing it?

What if the bravest thing we can do is admit:“I’m tired. Can you hold this grief with me for a moment?”

Last night, two men — one who had never held space like that before — chose presence over performance. They didn’t know my trauma history. They didn’t need to. They simply witnessed me. Not as a project to fix, but as a person to be with.

That’s all it takes sometimes.Two human beings. A few tears. No solutions. And a quiet understanding: you’re not alone in this.

So, dear Society, I have a few humble suggestions:

• Stop glorifying emotional suppression. It’s not stoic. It’s just unhealthy.

• Let men be tender. Their feminine energy is a blessing, not a threat.

• Let women fall apart. Without questioning their resilience.

• Create spaces for shared grief. And shared joy. And shared nothingness.

• Teach us emotional regulation, not repression.

• Normalize being held. Physically, emotionally, spiritually.

Also, normalize laughing till you wheeze after crying till you can’t breathe. The emotional spectrum is wide. Let’s play on all ends of it.

Here’s the truth I’m coming home to:

Softness is not the opposite of strength.Softness is strength — in velvet form.It’s the quiet power of presence.The courage to feel deeply.The grace to be witnessed in your undoing.

Dear Society,Let us meet each other not in judgment, but in truth.Not in defense, but in surrender.Let us build a world where being held is as holy as holding.Where silence is sacred, not awkward.Where tenderness is celebrated, not pathologized.

Let’s start there.With a laugh.With a tear.With a hand held between us.

Love,

Afrah