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Cry If You Want To
This November, I started falling into my grumpy state—it’s hard to tell why — but I always do at this time of year, and not many people know this. How long have I been such a grouch? I don’t know but whatever. It’s grumpy-time.
But because I’m a grownup, I refrain from saying the words that sit inside my mouth. I don’t roll my eyes at the happy music or let anyone know how I truly feel about Christmas cards. I dutifully put up the lights. And we play the music that must be played when you’re Christmassing your house.
Usually, I feel this way, then feel bad about it, and then I fight it. Like it’s wrong, like I’m a terrible person for being in this mood. Or I wrestle with it, try to understand it — so I can feel something better, something more seasonally appropriate.
Today was different.
Today, I just felt tenderness. For me and for anyone and everyone feeling a little less than wonderful right now. I didn’t question the origin of this emotion, and I didn’t judge it as being right or wrong. I just noticed its color and shape within me. I noticed how it furrows my frown lines and stoops my shoulders a bit. And I noticed the dulling of my senses in general.
