When will the crying stop?
Patience isn’t one of my better virtues.
I know, I know. Healing takes time. I know this from experience, too — and in the past, my emotional healing from the most mundane of issues took the longer and harder route because I wasn’t as vocal about them as I am now. But as I’ve told friends (and written about multiple times, I think), the thing that is hardest for me to navigate now is how many feelings and emotions have been compressed into a 2-week (now almost 3-week!) period. I’m grateful that as each day goes by, the scale becomes tilted more and more and more towards happiness and gratitude — “I’m happy to be alive!” is becoming a mantra that is actually lived in this period of rest and recovery; and for the first time ever, it’s not just a motherhood statement for a hallmark card, or bullshit for a pretty Instagram post — it’s real, it’s lived, it’s thought and felt throughout each moment.
But the thing is, I’d like some sort of…. indication, as to when the crying will stop. I know I have to wait. I know that the whole point of healing is that for those like me who are afforded this privilege of resting and recovering for quite a long time and for as long as I need it, is that I slow down. And when I say slow-down, I mean it in all it’s literal meanings — because it began with “drive slower and preferably awake, you reckless motherf — ” So slowing down is what I’m doing.
For the first half of the year, I learned that I could do whatever I wanted to do if I put my mind, energy, and effort to it. (Fine, “whatever” still within my limited capacities and context, but you get what I mean.) But I saw myself change at lightning speed, achieve goals in almost all facets of my life at lightning speed. Things that I thought were impossible for me, because I had certain predispositions like “I’m just not the athletic type.” or “I’m just not a morning person, it doesn’t run in my family.” I threw all my bullshit away and just decided to…. do. And do and do and do at lightning speed. Self-help, self-improvement, and a sense of personal achievement in all the best ways. And while I honestly don’t feel like this forced pause or period of rest is any sort of major roadblock to any of my plans (which, tbh, are quite vague to begin with, because I don’t think that far ahead into the future), I can’t help but ask as to when the emotional healing will happen. In more simple and precise terms, when will the crying stop?
The health stuff (haha, I make it sound so casual) will take me 4–6 weeks. Hopefully. Always hopeful and consciously putting myself in a mode of trust in people who are light years better than I am at figuring out how bodies work. I always enter my doctors’ offices with a face and attitude that says “Hi. I’m here ready to do whatever you want. Just please make my body work like normal again. Thank you for your time and expertise.” And I’m confident in the 4–6 weeks, with how things are going for me the past few days. And I have to keep saying it (because it’s true): I’m thankful that it’s not anything longer than that. I would use all the platitudes of gratitude I can find just to be able to articulate this. Because I mean it and I hope it shows that I mean it.
But I guess, the looming question in my mind is — what about the other side of the equation? Don’t get me wrong — I’m happy as happy can be. Thankful, grateful. I will keep repeating it to myself so I can believe it and live it. And I don’t think anyone thinks it’s a facade at this point (Just the other day, at least 5 people told me I looked glowing. No shit. Thank you!) But the unexpected, unintended outbursts of fear (I guess, uhh, we can call it trauma, fine.) — the periods of each day when I am sucked into some vortex where the situation ceases to be inspiring because I’m reminded that the only reason I can be grateful is because it was first frightening, painful, and real — when does it end? It’s getting better in small doses each day, but when will it completely end?
I realize now as I write this that I’ve laden this with so many disclaimers; and it’s funny because this is already me at my most vulnerable. Yet my guards still seem to be so up — like I *need* to get some insight out of emotion or I *need* to realize something and not just complain about a shitty situation. I don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to write “Don’t get me wrong…” like I have to comply with some standard of healing and recovery.
But the simple, straightforward truth is that I spend a good percentage of each day crying — not knowing exactly why, not knowing what to do with my tears, not knowing where to channel them. (I sometimes send funny crying videos to my friends, though. Haha.)
The question that I want to be bold enough to ask now — when will it end? It’s been a few weeks, and I’m not in a rush to get the healing over with. But if I may just make this one inquiry: I would just like to know when it will end, so I can look forward to a conclusion. A month? Half a year? A year? I’ll wait. I can learn to wait. I can learn patience and trust. I guess it’s just the unknown of it all that’s just slightly crippling and frightening.
I’ll end this post a little counterintuitively. I guess I usually have things figured out, but this time I’ll be honest and say I don’t. We’re usually told to begin with the end in mind, but this time I’ll end with the beginning in mind:
I know that accidents happen.
As to why they do — life is unfolding every day to teach me why.
As to when my body will heal, 6 weeks. My magic number.
But my mind, my heart, my fears, my regrets — If only someone or something could point to a when, then this would be a little easier for me to handle. :)