If I had to count the number of times I’ve cried in the shower… I couldn’t.
I had that thought the other day as someone mentioned to me how strong I was. Don’t get me wrong I’m a strong woman, of this I’m sure- but even in my certainty of strength, I’m reminded that sadly I have no super human powers. I am not able to leap tall troubles in a single bound, and nothing happens when I yell the word Shazam.
So, from time to time, I take refuge in the shower.
While traveling in Texas years ago, I sadly witnessed a woman get killed on the highway. It was raining, and every car on the road had their windows tightly rolled up, yet when her car lost control and was hit broadside by a bus that tore it in two…you could hear the screams of all the other drivers. I’m certain they could here mine as well. Hours later when I arrived at the hotel which had been our destination- I burst into tears telling my folks the story. A few hours later, after over serving myself some gin and tonics, I sat in the shower crying and eating a snickers bar I had so pathetically begged my husband to buy out of the vending machine… but that was a very unique circumstance. Those were not the tears of the every day worn down, mentally exhausted woman.
The every day worn down woman is outwardly strong. She’s working, keeping a clean house, keeping her children somewhat in order, and most times either juggling aging parents, a boyfriend, husband or a boss that have their own demands on her time and energy.
The every day worn down woman, cries alone. The “strong” women cry alone.
I think out of a need to feel in control, we don’t have our breakdowns in the the public eye. Instead we let our tears merge with the shower suds to go down the drain together. We emerge back into public looking polished up like old copper.
Nobody is always strong.
Nobody is always strong.
A handful of years ago I had a surgery that went wrong, before I knew it I was the not so proud owner of a colostomy bag, a tired body and a bruised soul. Ive been told I handled it all like a champ, like the good strong girl I’ve always been. I broke down the first night home with my husband and kids despite their best efforts to distract me by playing old Saturday night live skits on YouTube. After that night, I kept the tears to myself.
I was “strong.”
It wasn’t until recently, while talking with the husband of one of my best friends that he mentioned his wife, this gal I love, takes refuge in the shower and cries out the days pain. I felt a pit in my stomach over his words, over this practice of crying alone.
The sympathy I couldn’t muster for myself, I longed for her to have.
Why do we not allow ourselves the comfort of company when we’re so low?
Why do we need to cry in the privacy, and emptiness of our bathroom shower?
These are the things I think about, these are things I feel when I want what’s best for those I love. I just need to remember that the list of people I love, needs to include myself.
Till next time- Erin
