The Power of a Good Old Fashioned Sob-Fest

I have two sons, ages eight and six. In my quest to raise them free of misogynistic tendencies I try to let them cry when they feel the need. The key word is “try” because sometimes I become impatient and tell them to quit crying like babies. I am after all, a mere mortal and occasionally the screeching is too much for me to handle without earplugs or Xanax or both.

When I am being a good mother and I let them cry it out, I always say to them that they need to let out all the bad stuff so the good feelings have room. And I’ve believed what I’ve been saying – as applied to them. However, in my heart I haven’t truly extended that same courtesy to myself. Sure I cry. I tear up at all the stories on Facebook about wounded soldiers and stray puppies. Every Friday morning on my way to work I am guaranteed to shed a tear listening to StoryCorps on NPR. I cry when I don’t have money to give the nineteen-year-old meth head standing next to my car as I wait to enter the freeway. I am an indiscriminate crier. But I am discreet. I almost never cry in front of my children. Except for the time my husband took my youngest for his first haircut (without telling me) and lopped off all his golden baby hair into a crew cut. I cried. And stopped speaking to him for three days. But I digress.

Even when a cry sneaks up on me it has a definite time limit. I can’t cry for longer than 3-5 minutes. And even that seems like an eternity. I shed a couple of tears, get a runny nose then pull on my big girl panties and get back to being who the world needs me to be – wife, mother, friend, professional. No I’m going to own this. It isn’t who the world needs me to be. It is who I think the world needs me to be. Strong, tough, together, yet empathetic.

You know where this is going, right? Don’t you just love the way the universe conspires to teach you how not in control you are? Ever? So like all great illusions, mine was busted up at 9:07am last Friday. I got some bad news. Sure it was bad. But it wasn’t anything I hadn’t handled before. Looking back it could have been the culmination of perfect storm of stressors like having been sick with strep throat for a week (working moms aren’t allowed to get sick, right?), having barely made it through all the self-imposed holiday stress, and having tough news delivered. A trifecta of challenges that pushed me over the edge.

Because I started crying at 9:07am and I didn’t stop until sometime after 2:00pm.

For real.

I didn’t even know that was physically possible. I had colic as a baby and I’m fairly certain that was the last time I cried that hard and that long. I am living proof the body is 90% water. I’m pretty sure I lost five pounds of water weight that day.

The craziest thing was that none of the usual tricks worked. I was at my office which is usually a terrific place to tear up because I can throw myself into any one of a zillion tasks that will take my mind off of whatever is troubling me. In the spirit of full disclosure I was able to stem the sobbing (but not the movie tears sliding down my face) between 10 and 10:45am while my business partner and I had a conference call with a client. But as soon as the call was over I was back in my office boo-hooing like some theatrical sixteen-year-old. I was totally disgusted with myself. Then I thought maybe if I meet a friend for lunch I can keep it light and snap myself out of it. But after one failed attempt at snagging a lunch date (via text so as not to give away what a flipping mess I was) I threw in the towel, called a friend who knew why I was crying and beelined it for her house where I sobbed while drinking half a bottle of Chardonnay, devouring half a bag of organic tortilla chips, and a large slice of her son’s leftover chocolate birthday cake from Niemen Marcus (they deliver food evidently. You learn something new every day).

That night I went to bed at like 6:30 because I was E-X-H-A-U-S-T-E-D. My eyes actually hurt. I was totally disappointed in myself.

But then something magical happened. I woke up the next day and I felt like Xena: Warrior Princess. Yes bitches, I was reborn. Out of that big, sloppy, weepy mess a bad-ass, take-no-prisoners, warrior princess emerged. If you watch or have read Game of Thrones, envision Daenerys coming out of the burned out rubble with the dragons on her shoulders. That was me! Wow I totally sound like some dungeons and dragons geek.

I have an amazing friend who went through something traumatic once and told me that it felt like she had been stacking all these bottles of water up for years and when she went through her bad time she had the courage to just smash them all to pieces. I finally get it.

So I encourage you to embrace your sadness. Feel your pain. And smash your bottles. Because tears really do let out all the bad stuff so the good feelings have room.

If you like my blog you’ll love my book. Buy The Working Mommy’s Manual on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Working-Mommys-Manual-Nicole-Corning/dp/0615637418/ref=cm_sw_em_r_dp_6ZRcqb0QFT7P8_tt