MIDNIGHT TEARS
The tears came just after 1am.
They had threatened twice earlier in the day. The first time when the nurse offered me coffee as they prepped him for surgery. I felt so seen. The second time when they failed to get me from the waiting room after he had finished recovery. I felt so unseen.
But in the midnight calm that followed the storm of my husband’s unexpected surgery, the tears would hold off no longer. To my surprise, I was not ashamed to let them fall.
I had done so well during the day.
I calmly got the kids off to school, calmly got my husband to the Emergency Room, and calmly sat with him as we waited for the assumed appendicitis diagnosis. I listened carefully to the surgeon’s instructions, waited patiently as they took him to the operating room, and bravely refused to let my mind wander to all the dark places it seeks to visit when a loved one’s survival is in the hands of another.
I smiled at nurses, I updated family, I practiced my square breathing. I was thankful for a simple diagnosis, thankful for nearby medical care, thankful that my man would be back beside me in bed that very night. In the big picture it was not a devastating life event and in truth I was doing just fine.
Until I wasn’t.
Until the kids were asleep and my husband was asleep and the motion of my own body was the only noise to be heard in the house. It was then that the wall of action that held my emotions at bay fell, surrendering its protection to the moonlight that poured through my living room windows.
The tears came just after 1am.
I gladly let them fall.
There were times I would have seen my nighttime sobs as weakness, as proof of defeat, a signal that the day had indeed claimed a victory. But in that moment they felt like me, like my emotions had freedom to breathe, as if I had not lost myself within the difficult day.
Life often asks us to do so much more than we believe we are able, to set aside emotion and simply act. Act to care for a loved one in need, act to make decisions that feel beyond our control, act to tend to the mundane in the middle of unexpected chaos.
It is a gift and skill to be able to set aside the swirling within to tend to the demands of the moment, but left unchecked it morphs into a curse. Ignored emotions wander but never really disappear, temporarily held in the deep recesses of mind and body. Neglected too long they behave like caged animals, thrashing against the integrity of our protective walls only to spill out in violent fashion once a weakness has been found.
When possible, it’s best to open the cage door voluntarily.
And so at 1am I allowed myself to feel the difficulty of the day - all the fear, all the stress, all the unexpected. To acknowledge that, while my mind had refused to consider all the possible ‘what ifs’ that surgery entails, my heart, soul and emotions had certainly taken note.
It was a hard day. Recovery would likely bring more. Tears were meant to fall.
There was strength in every drop, a fierce defiance in the pool of moisture that collected on my clutched blanket. I had pushed aside my humanity in order to survive the day and then chose to welcome it back so I could gather strength to survive the ones that would follow.
It was a brave moment that I easily could have labeled as weakness. A moment that we often label as weakness.
So to the superwomen out there doing ‘hard things,’ I hope you will find space for your own humanity. I hope you will give room for the emotions that you so often must hold at bay. I hope you will discover the strength that is found in choosing to feel.
I hope I will continue to do the same.