Haven’t posted in a while, … life, man. Go along smoothly for a time then some new crisis will hit. Just the way it is.
I was feeling like a such a rock star/warrior queen for all of the hard work I’ve done on myself, I thought I was so strong… And I am proud of what I’ve accomplished, that’s true. Not haughty proud but Hey I Did Good proud, the positive kind of pride. Confident. Walking tall.
Truth is though (and this has come back to me like a hard slab of granite to the face this past week) I am a pile of Jello. I’m a softie. I’m not strong. I’m mush. Mashed potatoes. I am (or at least can be) just as sensitive as I have always been, like I was as a kid, before all of life happened and I built walls and tore some of them back down and did all of this inner work. There’s still a creamy gooey center in this chocolate truffle (why am I talking food metaphors? It’s making me hungry) and I was truly unhappy to realize it. Part of me wanted to harden, to be that pillar, that concrete that can withstand all of life’s hurricanes.
I am not there.
When a close loved one is hurt, apparently, I turn into liquid goo. I flash right back to a scared child all over again. It’s been a rough week. Usually, in a crisis, I am a rock, I am the one that stays calm and directs others what to do. Not this time. Too close to home. It cracked something wide open in me. Maybe I needed crackin’.
I felt like as a child growing up, crying was wrong and bad and taboo (and in my earliest years I did a lot of it, my poor folks) but I learned that it was not acceptable behavior. People don’t like (especially back in those days) big displays of emotion. We’re to keep it all stuffed down, keep it locked inside, suck it up buttercup, get over it. I learned that well for a while.
Then I learned (here and now in our modern world) that we must have an outlet for pain. Crying can be good, healing, cathartic. I know people who cry on the daily and there was a time I would’ve thought that weak. I now admire it. I’m jealous, kinda. Keeping pain inside is no bueno. It doesn’t work. Not for anyone. So, I’m learning to cry again, and without guilt or shame. There are certainly things worth crying over. Most certainly. And I admit to feeling better afterwards.
I’m just gonna keep on swimming, swimming, swimming, and when I can’t do that, tread water. Keeping my head up. I might be crying a river at the same time, but I’m keeping my head up.
Anyone need a good cry with me? I have at least one dry shoulder.
Be well, my peeps. Peace Out.