It’s been a while since I’ve cried in my car. It used to happen all of the time but today I broke my 6th month streak of no car crying.
All day I had been running around. It started at 7am this morning and continued through rushing to my 3:30 therapy appointment. Although my therapist was apparently running around too and our appointment didn’t start until 4. So I had to run to get to dance on time. And even though I was trying my best, it wasn’t enough. I was two minutes late to dance and they didn’t let me in.
At first I was angry- seriously, they lock me out because the class technically started two minutes ago? I hated the receptionist who came to the door and told me I couldn’t come in. I’ve seen them let other people in 5-10 minutes late. It felt personal. I wanted to quit the studio and never come back.
But then I realized that my anger was really masking my disappointment. I had tried. so. Hard. To make it to dance on time. It was important to me to get to dance today. I had injured my foot and hadn’t been able to make it to dance in a week. Maybe Ed was the one who wanted me to go. Maybe I just wanted to finally feel relaxed. Maybe I still am inherently resistant to change. Maybe it was a mix of all three. Regardless, I was devastated. And as soon as I got into my car to go home, approximately three minutes after class had started, I broke down. I really wanted this. I had been planning on this. I had been busting my ass to get here. And it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.
I could hear my mother whispering in my ear that I should’ve done better. That I could’ve done better.
But the thing that was different this time was that I didn’t allow it to consume me. I hated the world for a few minutes. I cried for a few minutes. I felt all alone for a few minutes- certainly I couldn’t tell anyone about this failure. And then I realized I was probably crying because I hadn’t cried in 6 months. At all. I hadn’t even realized I had been bottling up my feelings but I definitely had been. I needed this cry.
And I also needed to have compassion for myself. It’s okay to make mistakes I told myself. And then I opened up my phone and started typing this up. Writing is my coping mechanism. It allows me to express all of my feelings and I always feel better once they’re off my chest. This time was no exception, I almost immediately stopped beating myself. Stopped hating the poor receptionist. Decided my mother’s thoughts didn’t matter and that I would just try to get to dance tomorrow. Because that is all I could do.
So I took some deep breaths and as I finished writing my final sentence, I let my ball of self hatred, frustration and anxiety go.
Everything was going to be okay.