Yikes. Sometimes words fail me, which as a reader of this blog you probably already know. I’m in the midst of one of those times that I can only describe using the line from the James Taylor song that says, “Everybody got some days that they can’t explain.” I have been a bit of a funk off and on for the past few weeks. Fortunately, it has been more off than on and I have managed to laugh and smile interspersed with the gritting my teeth and growling and the occasional balling.
As I contemplated what I wanted to write about tonight, I had a sign. First, I found myself wondering if I should stop writing this blog after I hit day 700, which is just around the corner. Then as I was thinking about that, I spun the RNG (random number generator) wheel to see what came up and the number 300 showed up–a nice round number, as is 700. Third, I just mentioned “occasional balling” as one of the manifestations of the funk I’ve been in of late, balling in this context referring to the shedding of tears. These three threads wove themselves together to give me the theme for tonight’s blog, and here it is: tonight, as I was in May 2012, I am grateful for tears.
This has been an emotionally tiring week and I must confess that I’ve had the old crying towel out a few times and given it a good soaking. This is no longer embarrassing to me as it once was. When difficult things happen,I deal with them as best I can and sometimes, before, during, and after the situation, I break down and cry.
Even as I think about this, I smile a bit as a story comes to mind. A number of years ago, I was a struggling single working mother of two, trying to remain sane while keeping a roof over our heads and help my kids have as “normal” a life as possible. I was under a lot of stress both at work and at home as both my kids and I grappled with the aftermath of my divorce from their father. One Sunday afternoon I was doing laundry when suddenly the washing machine stopped working,mid cycle. It took me a little while to realize that the washing machine wasn’t broken,but that in fact the electricity was out in the whole house. Grabbing a flashlight so I could peer into the electrical box I couldn’t really see anything–mostly because I didn’t know what I was looking for. Finally I realized I was going to have to call an electrician…on a SUNDAY. Suddenly, I lost it. I started stomping around the house, swearing and fussing about how I couldn’t get a break and why things always broke on Sundays instead of during the week when it was easier and cheaper to get a repair person out. I probably ranted for about 10 minutes, at the end of which, of course, the electricity was still out. I would still have to deal with the issue no matter how unfair it was, how much it “sucked,” etc. No amount of cursing and storming would get the power back on. So I pulled out the phone book, called an electrician, and dealt with the situation at hand.
I don’t remember crying through this incident, though perhaps I cried in frustration right after it happened. But it was one of those valuable lessons, those important steps one takes when establishing or reestablishing one’s independence: sometimes you have to take a deep breath and do what needs to be done because there’s no one else there who’s going to do it for you. It’s alright to cry, rant, throw a tantrum, etc. In fact to do so seems quite a reasonable reaction depending on the nature and degree of the upheaval and tumult. Certainly over the course of the last year there are things I would love to hand over for someone else to take care of; but when I looked around, the only person there was me. So, I did it.
No, I am not ashamed or embarrassed by my tears any more. And I’m getting much better at letting other people into my distress, rather than suffering alone. Most recently, one of my older sisters held my hand across cyberspace as I melted down about a series of trying circumstances that seemed to pile on to my already overloaded emotional plate. She handed me virtual tissues, offered comfort, and took swift action to provide some much-needed assistance. Today as I thought about her kindess, I wept again, only this time it was from a place of deep gratitude for siblings who love me and are “there” for me, even if it’s virtual. I am grateful to have loving, caring family and friends who comfort and support me through the rough patches. I look forward to the time, may it be soon, when I can begin to return the favor. Until then, I will likely cry a bit more. But in the scheme of things,that’s alright.
There was a time when I was reluctant to cry: in front of people I was worried I’d look foolish and would be embarrassed, by myself I worried that I would get stuck in a depressed pity party and wouldn’t be able to break out of it. Now of course I know that neither is really true, though I still don’t like to cry in front of others. There something about that feels a little more vulnerable than I’m ready to be. Still, tears remain an important part of my ongoing healing, providing a cleansing salve to my sometimes troubled heart. So for those cleansing, healing properties I am particularly grateful.
