There was a recent new blurb here about a C-list model/actress/fitness guru woman. She announced her pregnancy just before she ran a marathon. Like, literally broke the news to the world on the starting line. Personally, I would have waited until afterwards to have everyone judge me about the wisdom of doing the run in such a delicate, delicate state. But hey, to each her own.
Sadly, she lost the baby; I hasten to add it had nothing whatsoever to do with the marathon, but rather, another complication. What struck me as strange about it was the comment she made in the news blurb. It stuck with me for days.
She said something like, "Yes, I was very upset, and yes, I did cry."
Now, I appreciate that sometimes, sound bytes can come across differently in print. But I felt there was something a little bit odd about the way this statement was framed. It was not: " I was upset, and I cried." Rather, "Yes, I did cry", as if to do otherwise was an option. As if she were confessing to eating the last cookie instead of admitting to being emotional. As if she somehow had to justify the fact she cried after a miscarriage! Call the Crazy Woman Patrol! We have a crier over here! Crier alert!
Me, I cry all the time at the moment. Alice over at finslippy has beaten me to creating the best possible analogy ever ever ever as to how it currently feels behind my eyes. Not that I am as clever as she in the analogy department, but I savour a good one when I see it.
I cry in the morning before I go to work, I cry in the bathroom at work, and yesterday, I went hog wild and full-on broke down right at my desk in the middle of the open plan office. And I am not talking sweet little flowery tears, lightly spackling my face with tender womanly grief. Ahem, no. I am talking about wild wracking animal sobs, the kind usually reserved for under the duvet or the bathtub. It's not even cathartic, it's just kind of...unseemly. It sends colleagues nervously quivering about with offers of cups of water? tea? coffee? Kleenex? straitjacket?
So, I woke up this morning and felt like a tit about my behaviour. And then I realised: what the hell am I apologising for? Things are horrible, frankly. I am having a terrible, terrible time, and goddamnit, I am going to fucking well cry sometimes, if I must. Because worrying about whether or not I am going to cry inevitably makes me cry harder. Some people may write me off as an emotional loon for the time being, but who am I kidding? I am an emotional loon right now! I think most people in my shoes would be.
Funnily enough, I felt a little better after I gave myself the permission to feel awful. Within reason. The thing at the desk may have been a wee bit, you know, much.