Strong Enough To Be Sad

A couple of weeks ago while I was on vacation visiting amusement parks on the US East Coast, which I dubbed the Great East Coast Coaster Tour of 2016, another roller coaster was happening at my employer. There was a sudden roller coaster of budget cuts, which cut me – while on vacation! My job officially ended the last day of my vacation, but fortunately some wise managers decided to find some funding to ensure two weeks notice for me. Also while away my stepmother went under hospice care and is pretty much waiting to die. My father, who suffers from dementia and multiple forms of cancer, is not taking this situation well to say the least. He’s stormed off furious a few times, and was even lost while only a few houses away. I don’t share this for pity or to present myself as some sort of victim of life, but merely to share what’s been going on.

While navigating these changes, my wife was told she wouldn’t be invited back to something she loves being a part of – via an email. Since there wasn’t much I could do about the prior situations I’ve mentioned, I sure wanted to go have an unpleasant conversation with the sender of that email. Anger was a welcome change, especially since I couldn’t yell at my stepmother, dad or anyone at work. Well, I guess I could, but I knew there was nothing to gain from doing so.

With my history of depression and suicidal thoughts, I was worried. I was worried when all these circumstances would gather their forces together to rise up and crush in a overwhelm tidal wave of emotion. Rather surprisingly, I rode out a couple of weeks quite normally. Last Monday, i woke up feeling down and sad. I wondered if this was the beginning of the overwhelming wave. No matter what I did that morning, the sadness sat upon me. I realized it was the first sadness I was aware of since January, which was rather amazing considering how miserable I had been feeling back then.

In the early afternoon, the lingering sadness had built up enough for the tears to start. I decided to dive in, and was completely willing to bawl all afternoon if that’s what was needed. Instead, I cried for less than two minutes. Then I felt fine. Two minutes. That was all it took to release that sadness, that energy. If I had resisted it, decided I wasn’t going to cry about any of this, the sadness would have lingered and grown.

Because I was willing to feel, I’ve felt great ever since. Felt great even while consoling my dad who is very upset that his wife is dying before he does. Today, we are headed to his doctor where he’ll be told that his cancer has returned (The doctor gave us a heads-up already). I don’t know how he’ll take it, but I know I can handle whatever comes next. Not because I’m tough or strong, but because I’m willing to feel.