When I Watched A Woman Weep

The day had been like any other, nothing out of the ordinary in fact the weather was warmer than usual for this time of year, people out and about enjoying the spring day. My pain and fatigue wouldn't be a good enough excuse to not at least walk the short distance to the park and sit in the sun, even if just to get some extra vitamin D.

Following my usual routine starting with the long hot shower to ease the muscle pain, putting my comfy clothes on, packing a small bag with water and the common emergency pain pill tucked away for safe keeping I was finally ready to sit down and take a short rest before leaving the house. I could hear it, that voice in my head saying, "Well you made a steady effort, just turn on the heating pad and call it a day". Where does that come from? After spending the entire winter wishing for warm weather, sun on my face and the visions of less pain were thrown right out my will power window. Of course my long history with Fibromyalgia taught me that it's the reminisce of long winter days and the depression those months tend to bring. Depression is a quirky thing, the longer I get to know it the more I realize it can be either a motivator or a desolater, sometimes both.

Ditching my depression demon with keys in hand I headed out the door and down the path that leads me smack in the middle of a nice little park only a few blocks away. I don't know about you, but on occasion I like to people watch. Imagine what conversations the couple holding hands are having or what the children are giggling over on the jungle gym. Maybe it's the writer in me, but there is a certain charm in inventing these imaginative scripts as if there were my own. I remember when it was me, the one walking hand in hand, playing soccer with my children and looking out into the day without a worry in the world. Now, shuffling through the brain fog that vision is, at any moment my body will just collapse from within saying, "enough is enough, pain is here and possibly to stay". Planning ahead has become a necessity and knowing if I choose to be physically active on one day, I will pay the price for it days after. Not that this has stopped me from doing the things that I love, I just can't do them as often or with as much gusto.

So, the afternoon warmed my face, as did the bench beneath my bum and though my heart wanted to stay and absorb as much of this beautiful day as I could, my body was already telling me to start heading home. I proactively took my pill knowing my muscles would settle into their common pain position within the hour and gathered my things. It was very satisfying, the walk, the park. But I also found myself somber, having to cut things short, thinking of the things I was once able to do and my willingness to give anything to have it all back.

There is a smile on my face most days, but not far beneath the surface these are the things that fester behind the fibromyalgia facade. The amazing ability to hide the doubt, questions, frustrations, pain, anxiety, depression and wonder of what each day will bring. After making it home I headed to the changing room to freshen up and then as I looked up into the mirror to splash my face it occurred to me, that I was a woman  weeping. I just stood there patiently waiting for each tear to take their turn, releasing what I can only explain as an overwhelming need to expel my worries. It was just me, back from a perfect afternoon of sitting in the unexpected sun when I watched myself weep for the first time. Mind you I have cried on many occasion, but had never really observed its reflection. To watch the way my cheeks flush pink from the rush of emotion, the tears trickling over the plump of my cheeks only to fall to the floor. It was in a way, liberating. Not the word you would expect, even I am surprised by it but that is what I felt. I was ok with the woman weeping in the mirror that day. I was worn, flushed, weak and yet still held my character as everything I feared most in this world came spilling out.

I was the weeping woman. Now, I am the woman not afraid to weep.