Sadness comes without warning. It’s not loud, and not as bright as joy.

It’s not a storm — it’s rain. Gentle, invisible, but very real. It doesn’t destroy — it nourishes. It doesn’t ask for explanations — it simply wants to be felt.

We often fear sadness. We think it makes us weak. So we try to silence it — with work, conversations, screens.

But sadness isn’t the enemy. It’s a sign that something matters. That something inside has been touched deeply.
And somehow, we’ve learned to hide it — behind a smile. It’s not good or bad — just the way we’ve learned to cope. A habit that can be hard to unlearn, especially when you want to open up to someone close, or to a partner when you first meet.

Now it’s mid-May. Everything around is blooming, coming alive. Nature seems to call us to rejoice, to feel full, to blossom with it.

But sometimes, what’s outside doesn’t match what’s inside.

After a long winter’s inertia, spring fatigue, and silent buildup, something heavy stays in the body. Something that wants to be lived through — quietly.

And there’s nothing shameful about it. In fact — it’s honest.

Sadness isn’t a stop, it’s a pause.
Not weakness, but a form of sensitivity.

It can be wise. It tells us to slow down. To listen to ourselves. To see what needs attention, softness.

Sometimes I try not to push sadness away.

But to sit beside it, like with a quiet friend. Not asking why it came — just being. Because when you stop pushing sadness away and start accepting it — your heart opens wider. It creates space for everything: for pain, for love, for peace.

And maybe it’s in those moments that we become truly alive. Truly ourselves.

And you — how do you feel about sadness? Do you hide it — or are you learning to stay with it?