A very long time ago, in the middle of a grief-stricken moment, my mother accused me of being stoic.
As I usually did, I went to my bedroom and cried, where she could not see. In those days I also mastered the art of crying in the shower, outside behind the barn, in the car . . . anywhere so that my family could not see. On the day my dad moved out and told my mom he wanted a divorce, I cried all the way through my SAT test but was dry-eyed at home. How odd that I thought it less invasive for my entire class to see me cry, but not to let my mom and brother?
Years passed, really, before anyone saw me cry. My college roommate did once or twice, more from pure frustration and in moments of great despair, but even then I would run to the bathroom showers and drown my sorrows with hot water.
But then, there was this moment on the phone with Chris – before we even met – when I curled up on the bed in my graduate school apartment and sobbed. I know the reason, but it is not germane to the reality. That was the first time in years that I wanted to be held when I cried. Each time it was a little easier – whether it was leaving him at an airport gate, or the beginnings of a resolution when we disagreed or disappointed each other, or the loss of a long-held dream.
Now, more often than not, my inclination is to find his chest or shoulder before the tears start to flow, before emotion sets in. It’s not always possible. Distress, despair and loss still cause tears when I am alone. Pregnancy wrought an endless flow of them for six full months. Anger, as rare as it is, still pushes me to privacy; hiding in the bathroom crying is a sure sign that I am truly upset with him about something. But most often, my emotional pain is held within until he has the time and opportunity to wrap me in his arms and let me be a little girl, rocked back and forth and held tightly.
Tonight, I think the tears will flow against his chest. They tell him a story in words I am incapable of speaking. They tell him a story that is painful to write.
They tell him about me.
During a conversation with H the other night., I sobbed. I have never cried in front of anyone. That’s submission for me. This is a very timely post. Thanks.
You’re welcome. I’ve been sitting at my desk crying a bit lately, but I’ve really needed the lap/tears/rocked outlet, you know?
Serenity
How lovely this is. How lucky you are. And He also.
I am very, very lucky. Sometimes I’m so lucky that I’m afraid it’s all going to fall down around me and the world will end in shambles. Maybe it will, too, but I’ll always have the lucky to remember.
Hugs,
s
I wanted to comment last night. Because I wanted to say the honesty in which you and Chris conduct yourselves is rather astounding. Your hearts are open and giving. Do you know how rare that is? In our vanilla lives as well as our Kinky. I am partial to u, u know that. I feel u r a r pine in a orchid’s body. I enjoy that u speak of ur child. U help me be a kinky mama. I enjoy all the pieces and glimpse u share. I love y’all, and I want only for you to curl into that man and breathe and tear. XXOO to both of u.
Thank you.
It took a long time to believe that he wanted me to be a part of his life everyday (for real!) and a longer time to act like he’d want it forever. I still have my doubts that when I’m twice my age he’s going to want to hold me hand and kiss me hair and rub my wrinkled, shriveled up body.
But I hope he does.
Hugs,
s
How could I miss this post?!
Letting someone see you crying is hard. For me impossible. It’s such a good thing and bless that you can do that with Chris.
Be well,
Alias
Thank you! Sometimes I just want to curl up and cry, but that doesn’t help, does it? So I don’t. Or won’t.
SE
Wow.. Well said. Thank you for sharing something so personal. It is wonderful that you have someone you feel so safe with that you can share this part of yourself.
I am very, very lucky that he has taken such care of my heart, even when we have days and weeks when stress and life and miscommunication and all the rest of it get in the way.
Hugs,
S