In the middle of the day, I cry. Not a big, blubbering ugly kind of cry, but a tight throat, tears falling unbidden from my eyes cry. It could easily turn into a full-blown weep-fest, but I reign it in for the time being. Even so, the release helps. Crying performs a function; there’s wisdom in embracing our tears.
Like this hiss of my Instant Pot when I turn the valve to release pressure, crying releases pent-up emotion. It allows me to get to a safe place where I won’t burn anyone else or continue to harm myself by holding hurt in. So I weep silently for a while. I allow the tears to fall.
The circumstances that brought me to such an emotionally volatile place are not changed by my crying but I come to a place where I can let them go for a time. I say “for a time” because I’ve got a propensity to pick things up again, turn them over and around, examine them, and think about how I can reform them into something else. Crying reminds me that I’m not that powerful.
Later, in the evening, still burdened but not tearful, I hear a whisper about letting go and falling into that I might have missed if I hadn’t released some pressure by crying.
Maybe I’ll cry again today. Maybe I’ll let go and fall into. Maybe both. Likely both.