Today was just one of those days. Actually, tonight, right here, right now, is one of those right here, right now’s. As of late, these moments are rather rare. What I mean by that is I want to curl up inside of myself and let tears roll down my cheeks and listen to the raindrops hit the window. I want to stay inside this dimly lit room forever because for some reason it makes me feel like I’m allowed to really feel something to its strongest extent. To cry and be weak. An important part of this equation is that I am alone. I don’t really want anyone to be here when I’m crying. Why? Because I don’t want others to know I’m weak.
I can freely cry without holding back when I’m in this dimly lit room, and not much anywhere else. If you knew this room, or this whole building, you would understand. I’m convinced there’s no other place like it in the world. The people of this place are set apart by their bold awareness. They know exactly what they need and they ask for it. They inspire me with their precise articulation of emotions. To the outside world, they may even seem rather peculiar.
If people knew I needed to cry, they would surely let me. Some of my friends would even encourage me to cry (s/o to friends). They see me feeling sad and tell me to “let it all out!” “Annie, you totally deserve to feel everything you are feeling, and you have full permission to be sad.”
It’s really a great idea. I would LOVE to “let it all out” and express my emotions (namely, sadness when I feel it). But I don’t let myself cry! Sometimes I bite tears back and sometimes tears are unavailable to me; both instances are frustrating.
Tears are so useful! I’ve discovered that sometimes, tears are the best way to comfort someone else. Let’s say a friend is sitting on my couch, crying. Sometimes, a few words of hope for an improved day are not as helpful as I want them to be. People need to know that their hurt makes you hurt, not because of what is wrong, but simply because you hate to see them in pain. I can’t wish the hurt itself away but I can wish the hurt to not affect you. And maybe if I cry because you are hurting, even if I can’t identify with the hurt, then you won’t be alone. If I’m not able to cry, at least you know I’m trying.
For some, I know that tears are shameful. Some people cry a lot, and by a lot I mean more than the average person. And for these sweetly sensitive hearts, crying is a way for them to process, to celebrate, to express any sort of emotion. Just because they cry often does not take away the importance of what each tear represents. Cry with courage, friends. We need you.
The one thing that is sure to make me cry is an ending. Finality. Sure, endings always indicate beginnings; but what if what’s beginning is hugely different from what is ending? Or worse, what if what is beginning is an extension of the ending, but it’s not as good?! Either way, tears are sometimes the only physical thing I can control about change. So I cry, and then take a step forward.
Even tears about an ending indicate my weakness. The tears that are shed on behalf of myself are the hardest to swallow, so I only cry a tear or two.
Maybe one day the norm won’t just be a tear or two. Maybe one day I will have the courage to be weak.
For now, this dimly lit room in this peculiar place is enough for me. I hope you have a place like this too.