Making room for sadness

Sit with it, let it be.

I tend to romanticise a lot of things. One of the things I’ve been trying not to romanticise lately is sadness. Because if fun, to me, is serious business, then sadness should be too.

I mean, I know looking at yourself in the mirror while crying can feel kind of romantic. But here’s the catch: if you’re watching yourself cry in the mirror, chances are you’re not fully immersed in your sadness. You’re probably venting, maybe spiralling a little, turning it into a whole ritual. You might cry harder just to make it more dramatic, watching the tears and snot pour out, maybe even putting on In Rainbows to enhance the experience. It becomes a whole thing. And don’t get me wrong, crying can be a beautiful ritual when you choose to make it one.

But when it comes to actually sit with your sadness - really to sit with it - something else happens. Something kind of magical. Allowing yourself to truly feel your sadness can open portals you’ve never accessed before. I know a few people who will resonate with this.

I’m not an expert at identifying emotions or feeling them deeply. But I am curious, and that helps me a lot.

So again, when it comes to sadness, I try to make room for it. Not in a calendar or in a journal, but in my body. Because sadness always seems to show me paths I din’t know I could walk.

This is probably my first very personal post. Not that the others haven’t been, but in this one, I want to open up about something specific - and truly sad, to me.

My mum has been struggling with depression for the last couple of years. There’s a long version of this story but I don’t want to say much about her, out of love and respect for her privacy.

Navigating this from a distance hasn’t been easy. But somehow, my brother, dad and I have built a system - a kind of support network - that keeps us involved in the process.

There’s so much wrapped into this: family, love, immigration, boundaries, respect.

What do you do when something so complex takes hold of someone so central to your life - like your own mother?

I wish I had an answer. All I know is, I try. Every day.

Depression is a bitch. But it’s also brought us conversations I never imagined we’d have as a family. Growing up in the Caribbean, you’re taught to smile through everything. To never cry - because life is a Carnival. And now, suddenly, we’re talking about fear, death, social norms, marriage, relationships, happiness, sadness… all of it.

When I was little, my mum would hide to cry. She didn’t want us to see her like that. I only caught her crying a few times. Now, I’ve heard her cry several times through the phone and even though she feels shame, she allows herself to cry.

I do that too. I hide to cry when my kids are around. Sometimes they find me. Sometimes Ruben encourages them to come and keep me company. Sometimes it feels amazing to be with them while feeling my sadness. Other times I just need to be alone with it.

As I write this, I’m feeling that particular kind of sadness that almost turns into something else. The kind that allows you to articulate it.

I’m not here to teach you how to be sad. You’ve probably got your own way. I’m just sharing mine.

Right now, I’m sitting on a bench by the beach, and there’s this very strong smell of weed in the air.. so I might be a little high too.

But making space for sadness isn’t about scheduling it, or going for a walk or journaling for 20 minutes. That might help, but the real space is internal. Your body is what needs to make room.

Fun and sadness are equally healing. Just like laughter activates muscles and joy fuels creativity, letting yourself feel sadness can open similar doors. Emotional ones. Transformative ones.

My friend once told me: “Grief is beautiful”. She connected with that feeling so deeply, she learned from it. She hugged it tight until (after a LOT of emotional work) it taught her what it needed to. And in that process, it became beautiful to her. But - just to be clear - I’m still not romanticising this. I’m talking about learning from sadness, not turning it into poetry.

Yesterday, I woke up feeling deeply sad.

Not crying-sad. Just SAD. Quiet, introspective. My mum has been absent - emotionally, mentally - for 2 years. I miss her. I miss her so, so much. I miss her laughter. I miss talking to her and feeling heard. I miss complaining about random stuff and having her listen. What I miss isn’t just her physical presence - it’s her presence.

And it’s the last week of school holidays, so the girls are home with us. Yesterday, I couldn’t find that space inside me to process the sadness. So the day felt heavy. We went to the beach, we had a pretty quiet day, but I didn’t let myself feel. I couldn’t.

Because like I said, I’m beyond the crying-to-vent stage. This kind of sadness asks to be sat with. It needs stillness. Time. So this morning, I made that my purpose. After a walk, a therapy session and some time staring at the sea from this bench - I feel happy to be sad. (also slightly high, thanks to my neighbour’s weed)

How beautiful is to feel?

To access a memory, and turn it into an Expecto Patronum after letting yourself fully embrace your sadness. To know you have this infinite toolkit inside you, waiting to help you navigate every feeling from the core. All it takes is permission. To allow your body to feel it.

There’s nothing to fix. I just want to learn. And I’ve been learning - continuously - for the last few years. Just like we say no one is to blame, no feeling is to blame either. The more I allow myself to feel, the more I evolve. I become new versions of myself, over and over.

Today, the sad Sina taught me so much. Thank you, sad Sina. I love you.

Now, I’m off to meet another version of Sina - all of them are welcome.

Te quiero mucho!

Sina