Letting Go

(For Beauty -my thoughts on letting go, crying and allowing others to see us fall apart.)

The last time I broke down I started off by rocking a little bit. I was trying to pep talk myself, tell myself I’d be okay. My heart felt full and heavy. I could hardly keep my eyes open. My head felt heavy and I just couldn’t hold it up anymore. I hobbled to the bed, pulled the covers over me. They felt heavy, heavier than they actually are. My cat climbed up next to me as I lay on her teddy bear. I closed my eyes. I could feel my stomach churning, moaning and mourning, then the tears came. Strangely they left as quickly as they came. I felt like I’d not cried enough but I still wasn’t able to get up. I just laid there with the cat next to me and slept. When I woke up several hours later I felt somewhat better, not enough to make a huge dent in the grieving process but enough.

The difference it made was that I let go, even for a second or two I let go. Letting go wasn’t something safe for me, crying wasn’t safe. It meant getting hurt, getting laughed at, etc. So it’s not as if showing such strong emotion was rewarded. As a matter of fact showing vulnerability by crying or grieving got me hurt or got my sister hurt. Really then, what good did crying or grieving ever do me? Who was going to come and comfort me? Who cared if I was hurt or afraid or grieved? If my mother did answer the call it usually meant me paying for it in some way or another or her bringing it up mockingly for years on end. So what good did it do for me to show vulnerability or respond to horrible situations with natural responses like tears or panic?

As an adult I still find myself holding it together, even when I can let go and be heard. I feel foolish crying or telling someone about my hurts. It’s as if it doesn’t matter as much as I think it does. Or I fear they’ll think I’m complaining. I fear ridicule. I fear people knowing and seeing just how hurt and broken I feel. If they know perhaps it’ll be too much for them to deal with and they’ll slowly but surely back away. Besides, I’ve already established this façade of strength and endurance. If I were to break down and fall apart what on earth will the witnesses of this do? How will they deal with the person they come to for advice falling apart, not functioning, taking in breath only because the lungs are on auto pilot? Having someone care now and allowing them to see me this way now does not override the early lessons of abandonment and punishment for vulnerability. Those lessons are strong ones that will take a lot to unlearn.

My façade of strength is nothing more than a circus mirror distorting the image of a frightened and wounded little girl with one huge tear that would fall if she thought for one second it would matter without consequences. It’s that little girl I have to go back to and tell that it’s the year 2008 and we are safe from them. It’s 2008 and it does make a difference to many if we cry, if we hurt, if we fear. It’s the year 2008 and it is okay to let go and allow the flow of the very human response, grief. Because this time we won’t be hurt. This is our new lesson.

Austin