It’s late. The kind of lateness where everything feels heavier than it did during the day. The streets not quiet in my hood and neither are my thoughts. I just got out of the shower. That’s the place where I’ve cried the most this month.
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There is something
truly cleansing about hot water and silence that gives my pain permission to
rise to the surface. Tonight, like many nights lately, I let it. I let the
tears fall as I allow myself to feel.
But this time, after
my shower, I didn’t pour a drink to take the edge off.
I didn’t numb it.
I didn’t reach for that liquid courage to quiet the ache in my chest or
distract me from the way life has been benching directly down my throat.
Life has been
having me in a fetal position at night.
This is the
first time in a while that I have chosen to sit in my pain, and I am
talking numbly underneath my comforter in the dark sober.
Hell, I won’t pretend it’s been the easiest thing to do.
I have been
stressed. Depressed. Mentally exhausted from trying to hold everything
together. There have been nights where I questioned if I had the strength to
keep going. It’s the nights where my faith in myself barely allowed me to open
my eyes from crying until they felt puffy. I've doubted if I could really make
it through the rest of the month. Funds low. Job on the chopping block. I
pondered on if I could keep showing up for my kids, for my responsibilities,
and even just for me.
But here I am.
Inside. Sober. Present.
There’s
something touching and brave about facing your emotions without something to
take the constant nagging jab out of them. There’s something unfamiliar and uncomfortable
and strangely empowering about crying and knowing that you're feeling it all.
That you’re not escaping. You have nowhere to run. No one’s arms are welcoming
or open to fall into. Life grips your thoughts as you’re reminded that you are staying
present in the moment.
It doesn't feel
surreal yet. It just feels smothering, but not the type that comes along with
southern comfort dishes. Sometimes, real is enough to make you ball your
fists to pound on the wall in the shower as the shower head beats rhythms of peace
against your skin.
Tonight, I reminded myself that being strong doesn’t mean being emotionless.
Being strong means not abandoning your physical self during your darkest
moments.
If you're going
through it too and if you're barely making it through your nights, know you're
not alone. You're not weak in feeling whatever you feel. You're not behind for
needing to break down. Look if, all you did today was survive without numbing
yourself, that’s a small deserving win.
I’ll take it.
Because I want better for myself. And maybe this is how it starts.
Linda 💜
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