I’ve been teaching myself to cry again. (To heal myself the way children do naturally.)
And for the first time since I don’t even know when, I’m not analysing, judging, or labelling my tears. I don’t always know where they come from – but they are there and, as my mentor reminds me – the emotional mind doesn’t label things the way the cognitive one does – anger is just anger, grief is just grief, and so it really doesn’t matter what it’s about.
And I like the word grief. My wise counsellor told me today that this word I have chosen to describe how I feel so often at the moment is a good one, because it encompasses it all – the sadness, the fear and the anger. So it doesn’t matter if I suspect I’m angry, but just feel like crying, or if I’m afraid, but just feel angry… I feel grief, and I can let it be whatever it needs to be.
And as I let it go, it morphs from one thing to another and back again. And there is something truly liberating in allowing my emotions to take their own shape and form and to flow again – and to feel and know that I am strong enough to hold them.
That they aren’t destroying me – not even a little bit.
That I can be set free by this.
And that no one can take this strength away from me.
That far from feeling weak in my emotionality, I have never felt stronger. I’m not fighting my emotions anymore, because I am no longer afraid of them. I know, for the first time perhaps, that as long as I allow them to flow – and so pass – through me, they will never overpower, or control, me.
That my emotions are what makes me human – and alive. And I realise that perhaps men never gave women a greater compliment than to label us “emotional”.
I am learning to cry again; I am learning to live again, and it’s beautiful.
New mum, old soul... Finding beauty, wisdom, spirituality, and opportunities for learning in the everyday (hopefully)...