Made of tears


I am writing this because of the video that Dee made (here). I don’t want people to think that I have a perfect life. I don’t want to pretend to have the perfect life. I do have a lot of things to be grateful for in my life. In my life is better than it has been since… Well, I guess I keep reaching back to my hazy pre-kindergarten childhood memories.  School did it. Social interactions have always been hard for me. I don’t think it’s obvious from the outside, but I’ve always known that I didn’t fit in I’ve always known I was never anybody’s first choice. But I digress...What I want to say is that even though my life is the best it’s been in recent memory, it’s not perfect. I don’t think any 43-year-old who has lived with an open heart, who has tried to show up for their life, can say that they have arrived at this time in their life without hurts, pains, disappointments.


So in vulnerability week, Day 1, I want you know know that part of me is made up of sadness. Part of my skin is made of sadness. I’m surprised it’s not translucent. I’m surprised that when you touch my skin, your fingers don’t come away wet with salty tears. They always talking about people’s feelings being close to the surface. This feeling, my sadness feels so close that it must be the surface.


I lost my son in 2010. I don’t miss him any less today than I did the minute he died, the day he died, the week he died, the year he died. Do you hear me? I don’t miss him any less today. 


I dare you to judge me for this.


As I type these words I feel anger. I am so angry every person who has told me to move on. I am SO angry. So fucking angry. Sorry to the kids reading. I’m just that angry. Rage. I feel rage directed at everyone who has told me to let go of my sadness. Everyone who has told me that it would be healthy for me to see this only as a gift. Everyone who has said that I’m not the only one who has experienced *something* like this. Not the only one who has loved and lost. That other people have experienced much worse. 


Fuck you. 


I will not let you call me mal-adjusted. Or self-indulgent. Or weak. I will not let you diminish me. 


I will not let you diminish me. 


Do you hear that? I will not let you tell me to make myself smaller. I will not make myself less sad, less angry, for you. I will not accept the feelings of guilt you are trying to stir in me. I am going to feel the full love. I am going to feel the full loss. I am going to experience my full self. I am going to know, to own, that I am partially made of tears. 


Because you know what? Being my full self, in my anger sadness loss grief rage, allows me to be my full self in my joy love light hope. They are linked. Painfully. Beautifully. Not inseparable. My being is a vessel and I am going to let it be as big as it needs to be. As big as this house. Spilling onto the porch. Down into the noisy streets with the smells of cooking. My love, my joy, my fears, my pain. All me. Not reining it in. I am going to live.


I am going to live. 


I am going to live and I’m not leaving this life without remembering what it’s like to be fully and unapologetically me.


So I claim you and I will keep you. I have space for you. All of you. Every feeling. What I don’t have space for are the people who tell me you are too inconvenient, too much, not enough for them.


Hi, me.