​Foreign Waters

My tear ducts have rarely cried tears of joy.

Tears of pain and sadness and disappointment and hurt and self loathing and betrayal and pity and shame and depression —all knew the distance from my eyes to my chin too well.

These tears knew what made me tick. These tears and my subconscious have a strong connection. When my sad thoughts got thirsty, they knew which memories to bring to the surface so that they could have a drink.

At night, lying on my bed, when I felt most comfortable talking to God— shame would request a sip, and my tears would flow. Flowing from my eyes to my ears, drowning out the response to my prayers.

There have been both bad and good times in my life. Times when I’ve been afraid. Times when I’ve been brave. Times that filled me with sadness. And times that have filled me with joy.

At the conclusion of an amazing night talk session with my girls, I found myself at a weird place of self realization. I was extremely happy and pleased. I wanted to cry. My body wanted to cry. My eyes even watered—but I didn’t cry. It was almost like I couldn’t.

I discovered that tears of joy seldom fall from my eyes. My mind was so foreign I the concept of “happy tears”, that I literally couldn’t make them fall. They wouldn’t. It blew my mind because then I began to recollect all the moments when I wanted to cry happy tears. I thought about how the happy tears I thought I cried were out of relief from pain, not of sheer joy.

That realization terrified me.

But growth starts with recognition.

-ab