The Woman Who Couldn’t Stop Raining

Dr. Laya had run out of solutions. Grief counselling. Journals full of thought records. A pharmacy of medications. But for Mallamma, none of it stemmed the tide. She wept everywhere her tears a thin, steady rain in grocery aisles, at red lights, even during insurance commercials.

One Tuesday, Mallamma’s voice trembled with a new kind of resolve. “You keep giving me ways to manage the rain,” she said, eyes shining. “But no one has ever asked me about the sky.”

For eleven years, Mallamma had cared for her husband through his illness. Before that, she nursed her mother. Before that, her brother. Since childhood, she had been the strong CAREGIVER,the anchor in every storm___never once the person anyone rushed to hold or support.

“The rain isn’t grief,” she whispered, as if confessing a secret. “It’s the first thing I’ve ever done just for me. My only way to say I need something. I’m terrified that if it stops, I’ll disappear again___go back to being invisible.”

Dr. Laya felt the weight of those words. Suddenly, the “problem” was transformed. The crying wasn’t dysfunction. It was protest. A silent flare fired by a self that had never been heard in any other language.

So they changed the work. Not the techniques, but the question at its core. No longer: “How do we make the rain stop?” Instead: “What is the rain saying that you’ve never been allowed to say?”

The rain slowed....not because they fought it, but because, for the first time, it was finally heard.

Moral: 

The symptom is not the enemy. It is the messenger. Before we rush to treat the behaviour, we must ask what it is trying to say ??? and who, until now, never listened.