Sunday

You don’t want to forget this loneliness, I said to myself in the car.

This past year, I have formed a habit of crying in grocery stores – I have no idea why. There have been plenty of times where I I have let my fruit basket and refrigerator become bare because I know inevitably I will end up crying in a grocery store, somewhere in this town, so I opt out not to go.

Ushering myself out of the cold I looked around my tiny apartment with a frown on my face. The Carriage House seems so delightful this year with all of the Christmas decorations this year, and I have shared it with hardly anyone. No gingerbread house constructing over wine with the girls. No Christmas movie marathons. Or getting so dizzy drunk off of hot cocoa this year.

It felt so lonely in that moment, I wanted to run.
Which if you know anything about me, none of this is normal.

No holiday is left uncelebrated in the form of cramped dinner parties.
And running, never felt so terrifying.

When I wake up in the morning crying, after a night of falling asleep with my phone tucked inside of my hand safely, my anxiety tells me it is going to be a helluva day – good luck. After feeling the immense sadness of how different this year was compared to the others, it felt imperative to fight back. Mostly for the sake of another Sunday not being claimed by my anxiety.

So, I gathered all of the pillows in the Carriage House. All 43 of them. Then I lit all eleven of my holiday candles. With a nest of coziness around me, I find myself trying to accept this loneliness that surrounds me on my living room floor.

As Frosty the Snowman plays in front of me, I can’t muster up any questions to reflect on. Perhaps the whole idea of it all. We aren’t always meant to question things. Sometimes, we just have to lie in it. And there is no harm in making it as cozy and warm as possible, because the truth is, you are going to need it. You are going to need all of the warmth you can make for yourself because sometimes it hurts so goddamn much. And it makes absolutely no sense to you what so ever.

Since writing I have found three silent tears fall down my cheek. One on the left, two on the right. I am sure there is some science behind it. But I also know it is my body purely and magically acknowledging the emptiness that surrounds me, and sometimes sits idle inside of me. And how freaking beautiful is it that my body can convey that it is feeling this emotion.

Last night, I had a dream. It was a dream that Kate, Kevin and Randall from This Is Us, were children of my own. I was getting ready to leave them, so I was trying to write them a manual on life. In my notes for them, I emphasized the importance of communication – after all isn’t that truly the one thing that saves us. It was so important for me to teach them about communicating and how to communicate, because I didn’t want them to be alone. Mostly because I didn’t want them to be afraid.

I have to find a little bit of humorous that my need to write down life lessons for my future children have snuck into my dreams.

In lieu of communicating I want to add, but appreciate the loneliness.

Appreciate how softly a tear seems to roll down the cheeks. Even though it is frustrating that crying comes so easily acknowledge that your body is purely and magically processing all of chemistry and emotions that have planted and grown in your soul. When you wake up on Sunday, crying – again – take that as a sign that you don’t have to be Super Woman today. You get to practice surviving in the simplest way. You get to just be. And when it feels like the loneliness is taunting you, making a mockery of the fact that no one is here, grab all of the pillows you can find, and be engulfed in their warmth.

It does not last forever, nor will it.

You already know this to be true, because isn’t half of the reason why you are crying is because “it has never been like this before?”