After my last post, I closed my computer, with a refreshing sigh, I stood up, stretched my craggy limbs, then looked down and started crying. I cried for the next several hours. I guess the process of this blog is therapeutic. I feel that I am learning and healing while I'm writing, so in a way, I'm more productive when I don't plan my posts. Writing from the hip is creating a space of pure honesty, learning, and change for me and I'm here to share it with you.
Now when I say I was crying, I was not sad and miserable and I wasn't secretly hoping people would offer their sympathy while saying they hope I don't cry anymore, this crying was refreshing, it was beautiful, it was peaceful and comfortable to me. And when I was done, I felt good. I felt healed. Progress was made through those tears. In fact, I'm a little upset about how tears have gotten such a bad wrap in our society.
We learn that tears are to be avoided and apologized for and feel ashamed about. When in truth, tears are honest, and healing, and hopeful. Tears mean we've hit on something important and beautiful and we're ready to begin healing it. So I'm not ashamed of my tears. I'm proud of them. I cried for three hours on Wednesday, two hours on Thursday, and one hour today, and gosh darnit I'm happy about those tears! Bring them on. I want to cry all the time. Just kidding, not all the time, but I don't want to hold back anymore. No more stop signs on my tears.
Now let me talk about something else that might make my beautiful readers uncomfortable.
I have frequently felt a sadness. A sadness that never seemed to lessen or slacken no matter how many tears I spilled. This sadness came in the quiet of lonely afternoons when I turned inward asking what I really felt and what I really wanted, and the sadness always said it felt sad and heavy and wanted to cry. This bothered me, this whining sadness. "Just get over it," I said. "Stop dragging me down," I said. "Why do you have such endless tears?" I asked. "I don't want to take care of you. You're a burden." So I ignored the sadness, I distracted the sadness, and I avoided the sadness. But it never went away, in those quiet moments it revealed itself again like a ghost in the mirror.
Yesterday I felt it again, that sadness, but this time it didn't feel as heavy and endless as usual. The truckload of sadness was reduced to an easy-to-carry backpack. With that realization, I had the courage to ask what the sadness really was. I didn't come to any real answers until this morning as I talked with my friend.
"It's stored grief," she said. "You have an immense sadness over not being yourself all these years. Now that you are accepting, loving, and coming into yourself more than you ever have before, you are able to release that grief you've been holding."
This process has helped me understand that some people find home outside of themselves in order to find it within themselves. But I had to find home inside myself in order to find it in my outer world. Everyone is on a journey.
Now when I say I was crying, I was not sad and miserable and I wasn't secretly hoping people would offer their sympathy while saying they hope I don't cry anymore, this crying was refreshing, it was beautiful, it was peaceful and comfortable to me. And when I was done, I felt good. I felt healed. Progress was made through those tears. In fact, I'm a little upset about how tears have gotten such a bad wrap in our society.
We learn that tears are to be avoided and apologized for and feel ashamed about. When in truth, tears are honest, and healing, and hopeful. Tears mean we've hit on something important and beautiful and we're ready to begin healing it. So I'm not ashamed of my tears. I'm proud of them. I cried for three hours on Wednesday, two hours on Thursday, and one hour today, and gosh darnit I'm happy about those tears! Bring them on. I want to cry all the time. Just kidding, not all the time, but I don't want to hold back anymore. No more stop signs on my tears.
Now let me talk about something else that might make my beautiful readers uncomfortable.
I have frequently felt a sadness. A sadness that never seemed to lessen or slacken no matter how many tears I spilled. This sadness came in the quiet of lonely afternoons when I turned inward asking what I really felt and what I really wanted, and the sadness always said it felt sad and heavy and wanted to cry. This bothered me, this whining sadness. "Just get over it," I said. "Stop dragging me down," I said. "Why do you have such endless tears?" I asked. "I don't want to take care of you. You're a burden." So I ignored the sadness, I distracted the sadness, and I avoided the sadness. But it never went away, in those quiet moments it revealed itself again like a ghost in the mirror.
Yesterday I felt it again, that sadness, but this time it didn't feel as heavy and endless as usual. The truckload of sadness was reduced to an easy-to-carry backpack. With that realization, I had the courage to ask what the sadness really was. I didn't come to any real answers until this morning as I talked with my friend.
"It's stored grief," she said. "You have an immense sadness over not being yourself all these years. Now that you are accepting, loving, and coming into yourself more than you ever have before, you are able to release that grief you've been holding."
This process has helped me understand that some people find home outside of themselves in order to find it within themselves. But I had to find home inside myself in order to find it in my outer world. Everyone is on a journey.