Embracing the Ugly Cry

Waking up one Saturday I had another one of those mornings of feeling overwhelmed with the enormity of my pain and tired of carrying around my story of loss. I knew emptying my kitchen of food wasn’t going to work, so this time I hopped in my car. My destination? Anywhere away from my loss, pain, and the weight of my story.  Several hours and state lines later it was clear I was still in the car. So was my loss, pain, and story. It was a tough lesson – no matter where I went, there I was along with all the baggage I was carrying.

I cried and cried and cried. Did I mention I cried? It wasn’t a movie moment cry.  Suddenly it occurred to me, I was in a safe space. No neighbors to hear me, no possibility of someone showing up unannounced at my door. So I sobbed and screamed at the top of my lungs. This was the epitome of Embracing the Ugly Cry.

Six hours later with puffy, blood shot, gritty eyes and a hoarse voice I arrived home exhausted and lighter. It was in no way my last ugly cry, in fact I’d now found the best place ever to hold crying sessions, but it was a start towards a new freedom from the heavy load of baggage I was carrying. I still carried plenty, but I’d somehow cried and screamed away at least a purse worth of pain.

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