30% Chance of Tears

June 8th, 2009

The last few weeks, we’ve had the same predictable daily forecast: scattered storms, clouds, some sun, and a 30% chance of some sort of weather event — rain, water spouts, tornadoes, hurricanes, plagues of toads. Situation unstable. My own moods have vacillated between blue sky optimism, looming thunderheads, oppressive gray pessimism, barometric shifts and sudden showers. Yesterday, I felt a storm building all day and finally put on my sunglasses and raced out of my house for a power walk. I cried the whole way, hoping people I passed would think it was just sweat was running down my face. Knowing I had a therapy session scheduled the next day seeded the rain clouds, and I wanted to get the crying out of the way ahead of time. If I have a cleaning lady coming to my house, I spend the night before picking up and putting away, and  if I’m going to see the shrink, I start stuffing things in a mental closet and tidying up any loose emotions that might be showing. So why do I go to someone for help and then pretend everything is fine? It’s like calling 911 and then locking the doors so the firemen can’t get in. Always being “fine” is part of my problem. Especially now, when I’m questioning the point of my job, worrying about growing older and becoming invisible, trying to let go of what I no longer need, wondering if I can create a new life and what that would look like. I wish I had an Emotional Doppler Radar app on my iPhone to warn me of rough weather ahead and a guru to help me ride out the storms that are bound to lie ahead in this part of my life. Or at least hold the umbrella and pass the Kleenex.

6 Responses to “30% Chance of Tears”

  1. angie says:

    "Always being 'fine' is part of my problem"

    I get it and appreciate the honesty.

    We don't walk in your shoes, but I bet so many of your readers can relate to this post. Many of us have been there in some shape or form.

    Wonder why life insists on taking us through all these stages… just when we get our groove on… the tides decide it's time to turn.

    Personal growth and all that… blah blah blah… but it's no fun when you're going through it.

    Not sure if it's any consolation that you have tons of fans out here rooting for you, but you do!

  2. V-Grrrl says:

    I've never gone to a therapist because I keep telling myself I know *exactly* what my problems are.

    Obviously, "Always being fine" is an issue for me too, as if being AWARE of my problems is going to magically solve them.

    If I'm honest, I know I don't want the accountability for making changes–something I expect a therapist would require from me. Does this mean I have a healthy sense of self that accepts my flaws or that I'm a stubborn idiot? I'm not sure!

  3. corine says:

    Cloudy with a chance of meltdown 🙂
    You're asking all the right questions. Heck, you're asking questions! I spent years of therapy avoiding some difficult subjects, then quitting when it got too messy. But I think it's all part of the journey.

  4. Allegra Smith says:

    My darling, they say is the journey, right? What happened to the destination? My feet hurt and I want a Parfait Amour martini, no more doubts and no more detours.

    I know, I know, but a girl can let the Universe know she needs a rest, can she?

  5. seastararts says:

    thunderstorms are in my chest and tornadoes in my hair… when I walk and the tears fall below my dark sunglasses it's my NOSE that runs so bad that I have to carry a full box of aloe kleenex to keep from snotting up my t-shirt. Content is what I was told by my therapist to figure out. Why cannot we girls just be content. I don't see him anymore.

  6. Anonymous says:

    Oh I SO relate to this post! I do my best crying when I am running or walking, and sunglasses are my saving grace. I have many of the same questions rattling around in my thoughts right now. Sometimes I wish were more "normal" and then I run across something like your blog post and realize I am normal, I am not alone in these chaotic thoughts I am having….Thank you!
    Deb