Juliana Writes...

Living with the best of intentions

Thursday, January 14, 2016

Crying or Cleansing? Maybe There Isn't A Difference.

You know when something brings a tear to your eye and then all of the sudden you’re sobbing uncontrollably in your living room and you’re like, “huh, I didn’t realize I loved Alan Rickman that much,” but really you know that you’re probably crying about a lot of other things? 

No?  Just me?  Cool.

Today, long after hearing the sad news about our friend Alan, I sat on the couch scrolling listlessly through Facebook, hating myself for not getting up and doing something.  Anything.  I have this beautiful, rare, extremely fortunate opportunity RIGHT NOW to do exactly what I want with my life – the stepping stones are in place, beckoning, and I am a lump on the couch thinking about all the things I wish were already reality.  Despicable.

All of yesterday and today it has felt like my brain is on fire.  This happens to me sometimes, it’s partially thanks to hormones (sorry dudes, but this is a thing that happens to women and you have to accept it, and even worse, you have to be supportive of it.  PMS is a monster and if you don’t greet it with flowers and big, I’m-sorry-this-is-a-thing-that-happens hugs it might swallow you whole) but I think it really kicks in when I’m on the precipice of something great.  I can tell I just need to keep moving, just a little bit further, push past the resistance and I will reach something wonderful…but there’s wicked cloak of fear and anxiety and doubt that finds me every time.  It wraps me up and whispers threats disguised as lullabies, purring into my ear that I should just relax, turn on the TV, leave the work for another day.  It is the demolition of my dreams and it lurks around every corner on my road to success.

So today I sat on the couch, scrolling away, and I happened upon this meme. 

I didn’t even have a huge reaction at first, I just thought, huh, that’s so sad.  And then my eyes welled up a little, which isn’t a big deal because I get emotional easily, and then a tear ran down my cheek, and then another, and then that feeling when your chest gets tight, and then all of the sudden I overflowed.  I sobbed the kind of sobs that heave your whole body, I hugged my knees into my chest and wailed and hiccupped and gasped for air.  I did that for about 5 minutes.  And when it finally subsided I opened my bleary eyes and cracked up because my dog and cat were perched on the opposite end of the couch like little statues with enormous, round eyes, wondering if maybe this had become an unsafe place for them to live. 

I let myself sit there for a few more minutes, breathing, giggling a little, feeling slightly unhinged but mostly just lighter.  I think all the crying scared the wicked cloak away (it must belong to a man, because often times when I cry simply because I’m PMSing it scares James and Wizard into the other room) and then I got up and put a load of laundry in.  Then I made myself lunch.  Then I worked on a few pieces that are due for a client at the end of the month.  Then I wrote this.  I think I hopped onto a stepping-stone.  I know my nemesis, Cloaky, is waiting for me up ahead, he’s only ever thrown for short stretches, but I can face him with a little more confidence next time.  And a little more the time after that.  After each breakdown we grow stronger.

The point, I think, is that it’s really healthy and sometimes deeply important to let yourself cry.  And, of course, that Alan Rickman will be sorely missed. 

Images via The Blogess and Buzzfeed

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