Everybody Hurts

The Aching Place.

I barely have to read the words and I can feel the lump in my throat.

I read her story, but the words were enough before I even guessed the source of her pain.

Because we all carry hurt.

Years ago I confided to a friend that I felt I was becoming more “feminine” because I found tears at “steriotypical” emotional moments so much easier to cry for. My friend looked at me a little funny and said, “I thought I was getting more ‘spiritual’ when my tears came easier. Ended up I was just depressed.”

I didn’t ask if she thought I was depressed. I had enough on my mind and maybe I didn’t really care.

Now I’ve come through several months of depression.  The depression was worse during the dark months, but it’s come on in such a way since then that I have to wonder about the spiritual side of things.

And anyway, I hope I am learning the difference between exhaustion and  depression.

The now-oriented and investigative part of my mind keep forgetting I can get depressed.  It continues to surprise me.

That it can  return.

And now I have to sort through yet another layer of experience: Am I “allowed” to believe tears when I recognize depression in my make up?

This is the difficulty when I’ve been trained to trust conscious thought over instinct. These are both intangible internal processes, and I’m ready to smack some bottoms and tell the quarreling siblings it’s time to quit competing and submit to Almighty God.

I’m through playing favorites.


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