Weeping.

When I was in college, I lived in a dorm with four girls, connected to three more rooms with four girls.  It came down to 16 girls in one living space.  Anyone in this world knows off-hand how girls are.  We love to have fun, we love to socialize, and we love to find out about who said what about who, and why, and was it really true, and who else knows, and didn't he say anything back, and why not, and she did WHAT?!  Like I said, we all know how girls are.

One of my biggest prides in life (and one of my biggest drawbacks in life) is my brutal honesty, and my despite for drama.  My momma raised me to say it how it is, get it out there, and then clean it up quickly.  Unfortunately for me, the rest of the world does not work the same way.  In fact, the quickest way to get on someone's bad list, is to tell her to her face how you feel, as opposed to telling everyone else first, and then telling her how you feel.  Don't ask me.  That's just how it works.

The reason for bringing this up, is to let everyone know that I prefer among all other options to be cool.  When something is wrong, I want to fix it.  However, back to my experiences in college, quick and easy is not the way to go.  In fact, I quite remember fights getting worse, because of my lack of fire.  When I refused to talk back angrily, raise my voice, or shoot back at a so-named drama-lover, she would only escalate.  Only when I would finally break down my desire for civility and respond in a feisty manner would the problem be solved.  Once again, don't ask me.

With those moments in the past, let's zoom up to today.  My relationship with my husband rocks.  If there was ever a kink in any relationship, it was because of communication, correct?  Or rather, the lack thereof.  My husband and I have this communication thing in the bag.  Finally, what momma taught me works!  Find an issue?  Throw it out there and solve it!  Don't bottle up anger, don't fuss over spilled milk (or rotten milk), just say it how it is, find a solution, kiss and make up.  (Was that five cliches in one sentence? I'm putting this English degree to work!)  If you haven't figured this out, give it a try.  It might take a couple hurt feelings, and apologies to get it down, but once you do, you'll be on cloud 10.

Now, four paragraphs later, let me reveal the truth.  This wonderfully relaxed person I've introduced myself as: she's MIA.  In fact, I have to wonder if she ever really existed.  Stopping the miracle-pill named Birth Control has made me realize that perhaps this totally awesome girl might never have existed!  She might have just been the bi-product, simply the symptom of a constant feed of measured out hormones.  I may have simply been hiding my true self behind this facade of a relaxed woman.  Let me explain: Since I have stopped the pill, I am like a bomb, ticking, ticking, ticking, waiting to blow at any second.  At that second, I either explode, and my husband takes cover behind the sofa, or I implode and begin to weep.  (I think he rather prefers the weeping.)

Example: Sunday morning, a beautiful morning, and my favorite day of the week for several reasons.  Sunday I get to dress up (what girls doesn't love that?), I get to go to church, I get to socialize, get uplifted, sing hymns (my absolute favorite part of the day).  After church I usually get to take a nap with my husband, always very satisfying, then the rest of the day is ours.  Sometimes we try a new recipe, sometimes we play games, watch movies, sometimes we visit family.  Anyway, you get the idea.  My favorite day of the week.

This Sunday: weeping.  From the moment I opened my eyes, Niagara Falls.  I scuffled my feet across the floor in an attempt to look forward to dressing up and going to church.  I made it to the closet, and collapsed into my sunday best, still hanging in bunches, and weeped into my favorite skirts.  My husband rushed to my side, pulled me from my forest of clothing and holding me, asked, "What's wrong? What's wrong?"  Now I have to say, I love the gesture, but the moment the question is asked, I realize that I have absolutely no reason to be upset.  I feel like a crazy person.  There is no reason in my being to be crying at all, or to even be slightly irritated.  I should probably tell him that.  What do I do?  I make stuff up.  "I'm mad because I'm not pregnant yet.  I'm mad because you're wearing the grey suit.  I'm mad because it's warm outside. I'm mad because I'm mad..."  He needed that.  Men need to feel the ability to fix things.  That's why we lie.  Will he ever understand, "I just need to cry?"  Of course not.  Will I?  Of course not.

And of course he tried to fix it.  He was very precious and gentle.  I was mean and made it difficult for him to do so.   I started to cry harder because I was being mean to him. 
Somehow the cycle ended and we ended up in our pew, singing hymns.  I'm not sure what I looked like, but he said I looked nice.

Will anyone in this world ever understand Weeping Women?  As one, I have to say probably not.  I have a feeling all that we will ever be able to do is buckle-in, try to survive the ride, and hopefully get a laugh out about it later, while hoping we'll have sons.