THE CRYBABY CHRONICLES

Growing up, I had two very active organs.My heart and my tear ducts.Unfortunately, they worked overtime. 😭😂

If you grew up in a Nigerian home as a highly sensitive child, first of all... congratulations on making it this far.

Because that life? It wasn't for the weak.

I was that child. The one whose eyes were permanently on standby.

Or better still, my eyes didn't believe in keeping emotions private. They leaked classified information every chance they got.

I cried over everything.Not because I wanted attention.Not because I was dramatic.

My body just decided that every emotion—whether good, bad, confusing, or somewhere in between—should leave through my tear ducts.

Scolding? Tears.

Someone raising their voice ?Tears.

Someone saying, "Come here."

Immediate panic.

If my biscuit broke into two pieces before I could dip it in tea...

Omo, national emergency.

The funniest part was that everyone always asked the same question.

"Why are you crying?"

And every single time, I'd stand there, trying to search my own brain for an answer.

"I... I don't know."

Because I genuinely didn't know.I wasn't lying.

Sometimes my feelings would arrive before the explanation did. Of course, that answer never helped my case.

"You don't know? So you just dey cry anyhow?"

"See this crybaby."

"If I give you something to cry for now nko?"

As if my tears had opened a family business nobody approved of.

At some point, I started wishing tears came with subtitles.

Loading... Please wait while emotion is processed.

Because that's exactly what it felt like.

I wasn't trying to be difficult.

I was just... overwhelmed

Everything felt big. Disappointment felt enormous. Embarrassment felt like the whole world was laughing. Even tiny corrections sounded like I had failed at life. And don't even get me started on conflict.

If two adults were arguing in the sitting room, I would somehow be crying in my bedroom.

Nobody shouted at me. Nobody even called my name.

But somehow, my nervous system had already joined the meeting. My sister understood me better than most people. One day, after watching me cry for what felt like the hundredth time that week, she looked at me and said,

"You process every emotion with tears."

I wanted to defend myself.

I wanted to say, "That's not true."

Instead...

I cried.

Thank you, tears, for proving her point before I even opened my mouth.

What's funny is that sadness wasn't even the only trigger.

I cried when I was happy too.

If someone surprised me with a thoughtful gift...

Tears.

If my parents praised me...

Tears.

If someone remembered something little I had mentioned weeks ago...

Guess what? More tears.

Even watching someone else receive good news could make my eyes sting. People thought I was being dramatic.

Meanwhile, every feeling reported directly to my eyes. Movies were another problem entirely.Other people watched films. I participated. The main character cries?

I'm crying.

The dog finds its owner?

I'm crying.

The old woman finally smiles?

I'm crying.

Even if everyone survived and lived happily ever after, I'd still be crying because, "Awwww... look at them."

At family gatherings, the teasing never missed.

"Don't tell her anything o. She'll start crying now now."

Everybody laughs.

Me?

I'm trying not to cry because they're laughing.

See the irony?

As I got older, I became embarrassed by it.

I started apologizing for crying before I even knew why I was crying.

"I'm sorry." For what exactly?

I wasn't sure.

I just knew tears made people uncomfortable.

So I learned to hide. I'd quickly excuse myself.

Face the wall. Pretend something entered my eye.

Blame onions that weren't even in the room.

Anything but let people think I was "too emotional."

After a while, I stopped crying in front of people. Not because I had become stronger, but because I had become embarrassed. The saddest part wasn't that I cried so much. It was that I eventually started apologizing for having feelings at all.

I became so used to hearing, "Stop crying," that nobody ever stopped to teach me what to do with the emotions instead.

So I did the only thing I knew. I swallowed them.Or at least I tried to.

There was another thing nobody knew.

I didn't just hide my tears.I hid myself.

Growing up, I watched a lot of movies.

And somehow, the soft-hearted character always seemed to suffer the most.

They were the ones people lied to.

Manipulated.Taken for granted.

Used because they loved too deeply.Somehow, little me concluded that if people knew just how much I felt, I'd end up like them.

So I became careful.I laughed.

I joked.I was friendly.

But there was always a part of me I kept under lock and key.

Not because I didn't want to let people in.I desperately did.

I just thought the safest way to protect my heart was to make sure not too many people ever got close enough to touch it.

The funny thing? People assumed I was an open book because I talked a lot.

Meanwhile, my real thoughts were inside a vault with maximum security.

If you asked me,

"How are you?"

I'd smile and say,

"I'm fine."

Even when I wasn't.

I figured crying already gave people enough information.

They didn't need access to the rest too.

Kappy see ooo. 😭😂

This is the evidence you've been looking for.My eyes have been behaving like this since I was a child.

It took me years to understand that being highly sensitive wasn't the same thing as being weak. I wasn't fragile.

I simply experienced emotions more intensely than the people around me.

What rolled off someone else's back might stay with me for days.A harsh comment could replay in my head long after the other person had forgotten saying it.Kindness affected me just as deeply too.

Because if pain reached me easily...

So did love.

I noticed the little things. The quiet acts of kindness.

The people who checked in. The friend who remembered my favourite snack.The stranger who smiled.

The "Have you eaten?" text.

The "Get home safely."

Those things mattered to me more than people realized.

Which also explains why I absolutely hate goodbyes.

I don't care if you're traveling for two days or moving to another continent—don't make me stand there waving at you. 😭

Airport goodbyes?

Bus park goodbyes?

Even seeing someone off at the gate?

Abeg, no.

Everyone else is smiling and saying,

"Safe journey!"

Meanwhile, my chest is already tight, my throat is doing somehow, and my eyes are negotiating with me.

"Don't do it. Not here."

Sometimes I'd even leave before the person did because I couldn't handle watching them go. And don't let someone hug me before leaving.

It's finished.

The tears have already booked their ride.

People would laugh and say,

"Ah ah, na only two weeks dem dey travel." My dear, tell that to my emotions. Goodbyes have always felt heavier than they probably should.

Maybe that's why some of my earliest memories involve crying every single time we had to leave my cousins after visiting them. It never mattered whether we'd spent just a weekend together or the entire holiday.

The moment bags started entering the car, my mood would change.

Everyone else was hugging, laughing and saying,

"Bye! See you next time!"

Me?

I was already crying.

By the time the car started moving, I'd be looking through the window, waving with blurry eyes while my cousins got smaller and smaller in the distance.

My family had already accepted my fate.

"This girl don start again." 😂

And if they looked back at the car one more time to wave?

Omo, that's episode two.

Why are we saying goodbye twice? 😭😂

To everyone else, we were simply going back home.

To my little heart, it felt like I was leaving my favorite people behind all over again.

Even though I knew I'd see them again, the goodbye still hurt every single time.

I guess that's the thing about being highly sensitive.Your heart doesn't measure moments by logic.It measures them by love.

These days, I've grown.

I understand myself better.

I've learned to pause before assuming every feeling needs a flood warning. I've found healthier ways to process my emotions.

Sometimes I journal. Sometimes I pray.

Sometimes I simply sit with my feelings until I understand what they're trying to tell me.

And yes...

Sometimes I still cry.

Because old habits don't disappear overnight.

But now, instead of feeling ashamed, I laugh about it.

Especially when someone asks,

"Why are you crying?"

I still have to think for a second before answering.

Honestly?

"I don't know. Give me five business minutes. My heart is still processing the situation. My eyes just like to submit the report before my brain finishes the investigation." 😂

My sister still jokes that I process every emotion with tears.

She's not completely wrong. I've just upgraded.

Now I process every emotion with tears... and emotional intelligence.

I still don't like goodbyes. I still cry when people I love leave.

I still tear up over thoughtful gestures and heartfelt conversations. I've just stopped apologizing for having a soft heart.

Because after all these years, I've realized something.

Being deeply sensitive isn't a flaw.

It's just proof that my heart has always known how to feel—fully, honestly, and without pretending.

Even if my eyes have always been a little too eager to help😂