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.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment