Sing

Sometimes I don’t let myself cry. I’m afraid that I’ll care too much and that I’ll stay stuck in that sadness. I’m afraid to become consumed by it, and that I need to move on. I’m afraid.

So tonight I let myself. I sang that deep longing song, of a broken and tired spirit. I sang that song that comes from the unsaid pain. The struggle withheld. I cried again, and it made sense. I have to remind myself that I can feel, that I can be human with it all. I have to remind myself that I don’t need to be afraid, but if I am, it’s okay.

Maybe moving on means that I get to cry and I get to feel the loss. Maybe I’m learning, in the hardest way, to be full in who I am: caring, hopeful, hurt from loss, and a bit uncertain about how to handle a lost love. I have been strong and resolved lately, which has helped me move forward in hopeful ways. Still, there is the thing in me that deeply misses her and I struggle on how to deal with those things that are alive in me. The things that burn.

It’s hard to hear people talk about her, even in short passing comments. I thought I was over it. I kind of have this thing in my heart that I shield when her name comes up or she’s mentioned. I block my heart’s ears, sometimes fully, but often, just part way. My mind says that a little dose of those particular sound waves is okay. Her name and what’s going on are okay, and to let my heart hear just a little is okay. Maybe. Not. Maybe it can happen that I’d be okay to hear it all. Maybe.

It isn’t the strong emotions or feelings that are a problem. They are real, and honest. They are part of me. Where I go after things are felt, and how I respond to it all is important. I’ve realized that more and more, and I’ve had a lot of practice in all of it this year. I have been responding in really good ways, and for that I am humbled and grateful.

I don’t know if she would ever love me again. I know that it hurts, I feel it. But I don’t know if that’s the point. The point is exactly what I’m doing, and who I am now, in light of what hurts, what I long for, and what I’m growing into. In the wildest way, love, true love, actually is stronger and powerful enough to speak to me in the depths of the sadness. I long for the comfort of one who knows me, loves me, and tells me that it’s going to be okay. Love, come down.

So I (re)accept the gift of who I am. I accept all of me, in the fullness of my emotions, my leanings, my passions, my hopes, and my upbringing. I also accept the responsibility of the gift. To be anything other than myself is violent to my soul, yet it isn’t always so easy. I told a friend the other day that people are waiting for his leadership. I realized that I was speaking to myself. The lead is of love, not disdain and bitterness. The lead is of hope, massive doses of sunlight, and the darkness that will come. So here I am, take it or leave it. I’m taking it all.

Tomorrow always feels better. I may wake up tired, but the sun begins the cycle, and I can try to sing it again.