April Flowers Bring May Showers

Sunday evening, as I rush out the door, I find a Mother’s Day arrangement of fresh flowers by my doorstep.

A kind gesture,

A save attempt,

A latch ditch effort,

An avoidance of an action of what I really clearly wanted and needed, which was a commitment for an event coming up.

I zoom to the airport, leaving the freshly cut arrangements in my empty house,

To Die

I am headed across the county to headquarters to host a top producer conference. He must have forgotten my schedule. Again.

It starts as a pit in my stomach. One that just won’t go away. All week it’s there. I can bury it with distraction and work, but the second

I’m in stillness,

Breathing,

Alone in my thoughts

There it it is… that pit….nagging.

Then the hurt in my stomach swells and morphs into big heavy sandbags all over me that I must carry around in my stillettos and corporate suit all week, making me sweat even more uncomfortably then I already am from the summer heat outside as I slowly walk to my next meetings.

I sit in another presentation in the hotel conference room, surrounded by men, they stare at their blackberries and cell phones and pretend to be interested in the what the analyst on stage is saying.

Meanwhile I feel the room get smaller and smaller, caving in on me. I want nothing more then to collapse and let the May showers of tears welling inside me to finally be let out. I’m drowning my heart in here of tears, let me just BE for a hott second so I can get blurry eyed and red faced with make-up smearing down my face and cry myself a river of tear petals falling to the earth.

What’s in the way is the way.

Oh please God I need a good cry!

And yet I need to keep my shit together.

Finally, Friday afternoon, this conference is over. I uber to the airport and hide in my window seat on the plane goinf through come down off the intensity of the week that always hits me post this annual conference.

I’m resentful that on top of dealing with the pressure of my managers, limited sleep, need to be “on” for my clients, the giving my 200% to everyone, the excessive sugar and wine temptations, that I had to walk around with this goddamn pit in my stomach all week. Angry at myself for giving that power of my feelings to anyone else. Knowing my own self worth and loving myself, but fucking pissed that I am not feeling my worth through the eyes of someone I love so much.

I lean on the plane window to rest my head with relief, as I am eager to finally let myself feel, all the way.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

My eyes are bone dry and my heart is stone cold.