Giant Panties, Giant Emotions
Since I was a little girl, I have always liked my alone time. Before there were jobs and kids and errands and any real obligations, I would come home from school, head for the solitude of my room and just be quiet for a while. (Props to my mom for respecting my space). As a teenager I had great friends but I didn't always feel the need to travel in a pack of my peers to the restroom or the snack bar. Even in college I had my own dorm room and then my own apartment, right up until I got married. My then-husband traveled frequently for work, sometimes four days a week meaning I was solo a lot of the time. Eventually he worked in town and the schedule became more normal. Then the babies arrived...and I was never alone! Moms joke about not even being able to go to the bathroom without their kids barging in to ask something. It's completely true; I am always in demand and for my girls, that includes when I am in the ladies room. (Although now they sometimes knock).
So two summers ago when my girls were set to go out of town to stay with my parents for a couple of weeks after school let out, I looked forward to the time by myself. That spring was when I found myself truly on my own as a single mom and as any parent--especially a single parent--can tell you, it's exhausting keeping all the balls in the air. I was thankful the girls would get a change of scenery with their grandparents which would also make my "break" peaceful and anxiety free knowing they were in the best of hands. We wrapped up the insane chaos that comes with the last weeks of school. (Programs, breakfasts, track and field day, end of the year parties, teacher gifts and on and on). Finally it was the last day of school and we were on summer vacation! The very next morning my aunt was headed to Dallas to visit her own granddaughter so she picked the girls up to ride to my parents' with her. I loaded them up, hugged their necks and kissed them goodbye. They were excited and smiling; that's always good for a mom to see whether it's sending them off to stay with the grandparents or leaving them home for a few hours with a sitter. They pulled out of the driveway and I waved, went back inside the house, locked the door and COMPLETELY BROKE DOWN.
The anxiety of tap dancing through those last few weeks of school with their dad gone was massive. This was a huge change for all of us so I tried like hell to make everything feel not only "normal," but fun and happy and more than fine. I was on a mission. I kept everything rolling at work, at home and at school amidst the curious eyes looking at me suddenly on my own and trying to figure out "where the dad was." I had been holding my breath through a constant, plastered-on smile and the tension completely released the minute the lock on the front door snapped into place. I was alone. No one could see. Time to put the big girl panties on and deal. (Incidentally I remember I did have very large panties on that day. I have a super weird memory-clothing connection you will learn about me as time goes on).
It's not that I necessarily wanted to face all the feelings head on, but at that point I was so tired, worn down and spent from the personal things I had been through, topped with the day to day of work and kids, I physically and emotionally just buckled and surrendered to it. I did not have the energy to fight it anymore, so even though I was terrified to really "feel" all of the pain I had been pretending my way through, when the emotion of everything came over me that day like a giant wave, I went under and let it win. I had been avoiding these feelings for years, beginning with the realization that my marriage was not what I thought it was right up to this moment standing in my purple robe, leaning on my front door and sobbing as my dog wagged her tail and stared up at me, letting me know with her eyes that she had my back and not only was today the day to "go there," she would love me through it. Sweet Pippa. It was time to quit avoiding sad movies because I didn't want to cry. It was time to quit distracting myself with projects or cleaning or organizing because I couldn't (or was afraid to) let my mind be still. It was time to begin grieving what "was" so that I could move forward into what might be. (#scary).
So I invited the tears and the angst and the regret and the sadness and told them "Come as you are and don't hold back." I planned activities like staying in my dark bedroom with the curtains drawn and not picking up one stray crayon or piece of clothing. I kicked things off by watching the Nicholas Sparks tear-jerker "The Choice." Lawdy, did I cry. The noises I made were primal, hideous and draining. I wallowed and I moped. My body told me I needed it and I RELEASED THE BEAST. Kleenex were no match; the minute they touched my face they were saturated in tears. I moved on to blotting and wiping with the sheets and my pillow case. I had never known this feeling before; my heart truly and literally HURT. It was broken. And out of it spilled all the memories, wishes, dreams and hopes for a life that was not to be. It hurt so badly to let all of it go, but walking around holding onto it had been even more painful than that. I had been brave for the girls and I think it was right to let them see me with my head up and walking tall, navigating us toward a new life. They needed to feel safe and reassured. But right now they were far away and I needed to do this part for me.
The first 2.5 hours were super hideous but I guess releasing a ton of pent up emotion isn't something that can be done neatly, Container Store-style. This was more like a junk yard rummage sale during a thunderstorm on an eroding hillside. I moved on to the movie "Joy," which contained a message of hope, possibility and achievement, but there was still plenty of crying going on. Would I create my own Miracle Mop (so to speak) someday? Was there time? Were all my best years gone? Sob, sob sob. I laid on my back, stared at the ceiling and let out a million huge sighs. Pippa, who hadn't left my side, helped me with that part, although sigh for sigh I was kicking her tail. We rolled around, occasionally locked eyes and sighed some more.
Eight hours later I was done. I was all cried out and boy, did it feel good. My giant, red Garfield eyes, my shedding eyelashes, my soaked pillow case. I felt like an elephant had been lifted off my chest. I crawled out of the hole by binge-watching The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. Then I decided this was an event that needed to be catered by Taco Bell. I loaded up with Pippa, purple robe and all, grabbed a $20 bill and we hit the drive-thru. I can only imagine what the teenage boy at the window saw when he looked at me as I rolled up on him at 6:00pm that Saturday evening. Surely a red, puffy, swollen mess of a woman with a rat's nest of hair, teeth that hadn't been brushed and unstoppable sniffles. He visibly recoiled as I handed him the money and asked for extra mild sauce. (Be sure to watch my show weekdays at 11:00, buddy!) I grabbed my double decker tacos and headed home.
This is Pippa in bed next to me on the exact day of my crying extravaganza. She never left my side. She was later rewarded handsomely with some bites of my Taco Bell.
After I crunched away, shoved the wrappers into the trash and toddled off to my room in an extra-sour-cream-induced-stupor, I climbed into bed and slept like a bear in hibernation. Like I had not slept in years. Like I have not slept since. I woke the next morning washed semi-clean and semi-anew. And not tired. And glad I did it. And remembering why crying it out feels so good. The flood gates had been opened literally and figuratively; I had officially given myself permission to have big feelings again and not just push them aside or store them away. When there is no over, around, or under...there is just "through,"...also remember there is an "other side," and your tears will carry you there. The puffy eyes will go away. You can get your lashes refilled. You can jog off the Taco Bell. And even though it's not all completely "gone," you faced it like a woman, you let it have it's say and you had yours back. You felt the pain, you were sad for the "done," and now you can be brave for the ones who need you. Nothing feels so scary as being the "one" who has to deal with those locked up feelings of yours--alone--but nothing feels so amazing as being the "one" who does deal with them--alone--either. Congratulations! You are human! Welcome to the rest of your life. It starts today.
(Since the content in this post took place, I have started therapy with a professional counselor, something I have done several times over the years during various stages of my life. Damn straight I'm doing it with this latest turn of events. It has helped me immensely. Please know there is NO shame in talking to someone who is unbiased and qualified in helping you sort out your feelings. It is freeing and it is healing. My counselor tells me, "You bring it here, you talk about it here, you leave it here." That is so helpful in not carrying all the crap around with me day to day. I also supplement said therapy with weekly cry sessions watching This Is Us on NBC. My girls watch it with me and we cry together. And sometimes we have Taco Bell).