I’d been soaking in the sun for over two hours, sweat rolling down the sides of my face. My legs and arms felt like they’d been baking in an oven for too long…dry and hot.
A large, dark, bluish-gray cloud drifted in my direction, hiding the sun. With it, a summer breeze blew across my face and bare legs, cooling my burning skin. A stinging drop of rain hit my arm, then another my face until cold, wet drops pelted my skin in no certain rhythm. I wanted to stay, reclined on my towel, allowing the sprinkles to refresh my parched body.
Common sense and logic had their way, so I grabbed my towel and my pool bag containing cell phones, and moved to the table under the umbrella. I sat protected from the rain, regretting my decision. I wanted to feel, but I dared not. And as quickly as the cloud and rain had moved in, they moved away, taking with them my chance to abandon regret.
* * * * *
By the time my first daughter was born, I was already an expert at not feeling. As a little girl, I learned that feelings were dangerous. Too much emotion, no matter on which end of the spectrum, always led to trouble. So I stuffed and numbed my feelings until I forgot to feel much at all. As the nurses took my daughter to wash away the newborn blood, one turned and asked me how it felt to be a mother. Weird. That was my response. Weird. Not Wonderful. Not Exciting. Not Fabulous. Not Terrifying. Just Weird.
* * * * *
Anger simmers at a low boil just beneath the surface, and it feels wrong. For far too long, I was told that it was. But I am, in fact, angry. Angry because I didn’t burst out with some wildly descriptive adjective about how it felt to be a new mother. Angry because I learned much too young how to numb my feelings. Angry because it seems there’s a price to pay every time I allow myself to feel the slightest bit. Angry because I live with regret every time I don’t allow myself to feel. Angry because I’m angry, and I know I’ll be judged for it.
* * * * *
I find myself not only regretting that I didn’t allow myself to feel the brief shower; I regret that it wasn’t a downpour of rain that I might’ve allowed to soak every inch of my body.
I want to feel. I want to be flooded with feeling…to be drenched with excitement, with anger, with hope, with torment, with love, with hate. I want to feel…something…and feel it with every ounce of my being. Stuffing and numbing are the ways of the living dead..the parched.
I need to feel the rain.
