Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Cry More

This is a sacred space for me.  Just looking at my blog brings peace to my heart.  I have always tried hard to follow Mrs. Nielsen's example by only writing when there is something uplifting to say.  This is why you haven't heard from me a lot lately.

Unlike most of the tortured artists of the 21st century, I find my depression dampens creativity instead of fueling it.    But I've also found creativity to be a powerful antidote, and so here I am.

Last week I finally made it in to see a therapist, and we talked about a few things that have been troubling me.  My big takeaway, though, was that I am grieving and I need to honor that process more.  I literally need to schedule more time for crying.

I have gotten into the habit over the years of crying for a few minutes with TJ at the end or beginning of a hard day, and then drying my tears so that I can sleep or get moving.  Crying for too long, I thought, was just a waste of time.  But grief is different from depression, and lately I have felt those accumulated tears as heavy and unwieldy as a completely full, five-gallon bucket.  Every time I made a wrong move, tears spilled everywhere.  In church.  In yoga.  During home school.  I have often felt that I could cry for days and weeks straight and never, never run out of tears.  But never having given myself the freedom to find out how many tears were in there, I just didn't know.

My therapist encouraged me to take as much time as I need to periodically just cry until I can't cry any longer.  So I came home, and when I had taken care of everyone's needs, I locked the bedroom door, went into the closet and began to pray.  I poured out my heart the Heavenly Father, enumerating every weight and every pain in my heart, and then I sobbed and sobbed.   I cried my way through half a roll of toilet paper, and then I felt done.

The relief I felt was powerful and lasting, truly as if I had dumped a hundred pounds of tears.  I went about my daily activities with a sense of lightness and even well-being.  I can't believe how healing it was for me to cry it all out.

My bucket fills up more slowly than I would have thought, but I've cried in the closet twice this week and at other times to a lesser extent.

I don't know what exactly my Heavenly Father has in mind for me at this time.  It is hard to find purpose in suffering.  I hope that by acknowledging and truly expressing my grief, it will pass more quickly. 

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