I wrote this post over Christmas. As many of you know, my grandmother had been rushed to the hospital the Wednesday before the holiday and my whole family was on edge. I have yet to post it because much of the emotion was still so raw. But I am working on moving things out now, have had many a cathartic releases since this post and have helped the individual mentioned receive the proper care, the care I could no longer give, the care that continues to drain my life force every time we interact. Lissa wrote about this today but I had already reached the same conclusion: I must do me first. I must put my needs above those of others so that I, in turn, may better serve them. That is part of the reason I write, to fill me and, hopefully, inspire you. With love, gratitude, and appreciation, I give you my heart. Thank you for caring for it.
I have a confession to make: when I was younger I used to envy those who could cry silently.
You see…I was a loud crier. In fact, crying isn’t even the right term…heaving, breathless, snotty, red-faced sobber better describes me. If something inspired tears in public, it was all over. Sad movies, a moving sermon in church, nevermind a funeral…it was all over. And yet as I looked around me I noticed that the adults could all cry silently, barely taking in a breath. And I admired that skill, wondered how the managed to acquire it and make crying look so, well, proper and neat.
As we all know, I am neither of those two things.
And yet, now as an adult I find myself quiet sobbing more and more. And I hate it. I realize now that quiet sobbing is not something to be envied or admired but rather just another example of how we shove our emotions away in an attempt to soothe our wounds and/or please and protect those around us.
I quietly sobbed as I wrote this post, the previous situation inspiring it. I didn’t want to alarm her because I knew that she would jump into caring mode, worrying more about me than about her situation, the conversation surrounding which led to the aforementioned sobbing.
I resented it. I resented her for caring too much while simultaneously hurting for her, feeling everything she was masking with anger. and caring and avoidance.
You see the thing about quiet sobs is that they choke you. They aren’t cathartic like the loud heaving sobs because you aren’t breathing. You aren’t releasing anything but rather holding it all in, leaving you feeling more troubled, more hurt, and more (insert emotion here).
In my opinion, there’s nothing adult about quiet sobs. As adults we are expected to be responsible, courageous even. We’re supposed to stand up for what we believe in, for ourselves, and for those around us. Quiet sobs do none of that. They conform to a society that tells us expressing emotions = weakness when, in fact, in our emotions lie our greatest power. Quiet sobs avoid the problem at hand, pushing it deeper inside of us so that we can hide from it a little bit longer. They are weak and as cowardly as things get.
I’m done with them. I’m done with hiding my emotions so that I don’t hurt others more by reflecting back what they are truly, madly, deeply feeling but afraid of or unable to show. I’m done with the quiet sobs. Give me the heaving, the breathlessness, and the boogers…give me the coughing and the shaking and the clinging to anything as if it were the only thing keeping me alive. Give me the passion. Without it, our lives are just a shadow of what they could be.
Universe I am your vessel. Abide in me.