I a little bit think that I’m trying to make some kind of point – even just to myself – with each of these blog posts. I think I’m trying to convince myself that I’m some kind of grown-up. That I’ve “got this” in some way. Or if I haven’t got it yet, it’s okay, coz I’m on a reasonable path that is doubtless going to lead me to the right place in the end.

But this is just further fabrication and lies. I don’t know what I’m doing at all.

I’m pre-menstrual at the moment, so I’m feeling my feels like stripped wires all exposed and dangerous, liable to spark at any second. On the heels of a bad food reaction, I cried off a Montreal party with brother and brother-husband and lay down on the couch to watch a movie between frequent trips to the bathroom. Teen-dramedy plus current emotional state = sobbing away my carefully applied eyeliner over at least 60 of the 90 minutes.

I’m a bit unsure about admitting to this. I mean, sure, this blog contains way more personal stuff that that, but … something about my internal image of “being nearly forty” is dissonant with that of a crying pre-menstrual person. It’s like the latter is only allowed for girls and women in their twenties. It’s not allowed anymore. I’m meant to be on the path to enlightenment, and not giving in to cryfests and surges of emotion that I don’t understand. Didn’t I just commit to “doing the work”, improving myself and figuring all this shit out?

But before all that, I committed to honesty, and here’s an honest thing: it felt good. But more than that – it felt necessary. So, I wonder, is there a place in life for just getting a good cry-out? I cry not infrequently. But I usually cry because I’m sad or scared or overwhelmed about a named thing. Tonight, and maybe even yesterday and all its spiky hedgehog feelings, it’s a lot more nebulous.

I just feel.

I feel raw. I feel small and confused and unmanageable. I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like it’s really really possible that I never will. I’m worried that my children are going to grow up like me, with unplanned emotions popping their prairie-dog heads up in all sorts of unexpected situations. And how can I possibly prepare them to deal when I can’t always deal myself.

Except, I kind of think I do deal with it okay. It just doesn’t look very good.

I wait it out. And I allow myself some leeway. Basically, that’s it.

I know that sadness passes. And I know I’ll see it again. I won’t feel this way forever, but I’m nearly guaranteed to feel this way again. But, I no longer hate and fear feeling this way. It’s a bit like a volcanic eruption – if you’re caught up right in the middle of it, it’s going to be way too scary and burny to see anything good about it, but from a prepared distance, maybe there’s something raw and beautiful to be found.

And from even more of a distance, maybe we can even analyse the causes.

But it’s going to happen, and denying it and trying to plug the hole is just going to result in unexpected casualties.

Okay! Enough of crappy metaphors! Crying it out made me feel better. I’m not entirely sure what “it” was to begin with, but I accept the feeling all the same. I don’t feel ashamed about my need to out my emotions. Except, also I sort of do, but that’s the result of false expectations that weren’t even coming from me, but from pictures that got built up in me over a lifetime.

That’s about the size of it, really.

I’ve still got a fair bit of double-think going on though. On one hand, I see you, self. I recognise and accept what I am. But there’s another voice in the room, a judgemental crow who’s all snide and sarcastic and “Really? You think this is okay? You think this is adulting?”

So I can say that I’m good with me, that I’m down with radically accepting the honest instants that all make up “me”. And it’s not a lie, but it’s not exactly the truth either. I guess I’ll just hold that for a while, that double-think. The image of the all-knowing adult has been with me a long time, and it’s going to take a while for all parts of me to accept the truer painting.

That’s all I’ve got on this today. I did say I don’t know what I’m doing! (And neither did Einstein.)

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