Let it hurt
/7:01 in the evening. It’d been one of those days. Those terrible days where it seems like the whole worlds against you and you’re only holding on by a thread. My body ached from head to toe. My mind numb from all the inflicting thoughts that lay in it. My head throbbed as my pounding heart beat unnaturally.
I came home to find the house completely still and empty. I looked into the kitchen, a plate labeled “Dinner” Had been left out on the countertop. And a “PS” added “wash the dish afterwards.” As if I needed reminding. But I wasn’t hungry. So I grabbed the dish and put it in the fridge. Pulled out a bottle of red wine. The one we’d got from the vineyard months ago. After pouring myself a glass, I went into the bathroom. I took out every candle we owned and light them up. I went into the hall and put on an old record. Mile Davis. The melody soothing and calming.
I turned on the hot water. And poured a whole bottle of bath bubbles. I got undressed. And I stepped into the bath. I needed this. I said to myself. I slid slowly down into the water till I was completely underwater. That’s what I wanted to do most of all. That’s what I really needed, to disappear. Deep down into the water till every last bubble of oxygen was gone. Maybe then I’d forget.
All I’d ever wanted was to forget. But even when I thought I had, pieces kept emerging. Like bits of wood floating up to the surface that only hint at the shipwreck below.
And a shipwreck I was. There on a Monday night while the world kept on turning, I submerged my aching body into the deep end of the water. Hoping to stop the pieces that kept emerging from making a whole.
I came up from the water covered in tears. And it hurt. I didn’t mean to fall apart; I didn’t mean to start sobbing, or for my rickety body to tremble from head to toe. But the truth is that, sometimes, the things that we don’t want to happen are exactly the things that we NEED most to take place. And more than a fake smile, a numb spirit, I needed to unravel. Putting off the pain only works for so long. Eventually you’ll walk right into a mirror that will stop you dead on your tracks and make realize you are aching. And the only way around it is to let healing do its work and let it hurt.
We falsely correlate tears with weakness. Admittance of being inflicted is casted as being over emotional. We’d rather mask the surface; put another board over the cracked bottom of our boats, than declare a shipwreck. And we fool ourselves into believing that it works. Until the water seeps in from tiny little cracks you never even noticed where there. Till you’re sinking once more.
Allowing yourself to heal properly is as vital as having a floating device, or a life boat on board. It’s the only thing that will bring you back to shore. That’s not to say that it’s easy or in any way graceful, but it’s necessary. It’s an imperative part of the process.
Its 7:59 in the evening now, the sun has set, and the candles are burning low. Miles Davis is playing on the old record player in the hall. And for the first time in days I am serene. I am at peace. I am at shore.
