Our new TV imploded so we haven’t had one for a week. I wanted to watch something on the iPad tonight but my husband wasn’t interested in “huddling around the small screen.”
So we ended up talking, and I ended up sharing things that I didn’t realize I needed to share.
I cried, and I felt ashamed for the tears I shed. I hadn’t realized the weight of so many things left unarticulated. There is much I don’t say, for fear… of what exactly I do not know.
The fear you cannot name is the most terrifying of all.
But maybe I can make it. The words are jumbled, the adjectives misplaced, but the gist of it is there. If only I’d venture to say the words.
Tonight I tried and I cried and I felt weak for the tears. It’s frustrating, and I wonder what my husband thinks of me, but I can’t change who I am or how I feel.
Why do tears have to be the mark do the weak? Perhaps they are really the mark of the strong. Or simply the mark of the honest.
I tell myself often: We are all doing the best we can.