The Rain Changed to Tears

I listen to others. What about me?

October 6, 2023

I was surprised when I realized what was actually happening. The trees swayed back and forth giving voice to the wind. The clouds moved along rapidly, the lower ones dark gray, suggesting they were pregnant with moisture and laboring to keep from falling out and down to the ground in torrents. 

Then the water broke and the rain came down. 

I was not feeling very good already earlier in the day. I felt tired. I felt out of sorts physically, a bit of generalized discomfort in my gut. I decided to let go of the relentless need to be doing things I should be doing. There are many, although my mind tends to draw a blank when I finally decide to get started.  I decided to take a snow day. It was not snowing, but I remembered that feeling when a snow day was declared: implicit permission to stay home from work/school, to let go of any effort at accomplishing whatever needs to be accomplished. No writing for the moment, permission even to cease the daunting task of procrastinating.

My room became a guilt-free oasis. It is an upstairs room with a ceiling that is the other side of a slanted roof.  Even I, small of stature, can’t stand up on the side with the large skylight. It’s angled low enough at the bottom to be reached easily and opened to let in the outside air.  I wanted to open it, but was afraid the rain might blow into the room. It wasn’t raining very hard, but I didn’t want to risk it. I adjusted the pillows, lay down on the bed, pulled my light jacket over me, and put my glasses on the bed stand. I was in a very comfortable partially sitting up position, my head resting on the pillow.  

I was tired, but not sleepy.  I just wanted to chill, to vegetate for a while.  I wanted to give my brain a break, a vacation from the disjointed stream of thoughts switching from one to another, sometimes overlapping, always going somewhere, going nowhere, but still anxious to get there.  Even with the window closed, I could hear the wind. 

Then the sound of the rain began to take over, providing a steady drumming that seemed to slow the stream of thoughts and calm my spirit.

I lost track of whatever physical discomfort I felt and settled into reverie. I don’t know the why or how of it, just the what. The endless stream of thoughts that never asks for permission to enter, continued. This time, however, the reverie slowed the stream and an occasional eddy formed into a pool that remained long enough to allow me to actually step into it and listen to its story. The sound of the rain filtered out the detritus in the stream as I listened to the story, my story.  I have spent a career listening intently to other people’s stories, seeking to help them discover who they are and what they really want as they try to make decisions, deal with conflicts, survive in tragic circumstances. This time I gave to myself the full attention I so readily give to others.  

I cannot, will not, write the details of my story here. I honored my commitment to confidentiality when listening to others. I will do the same for myself.

I will try to tell my story in a way that will allow any who read this to find something of their story in it. 

Putting the same nonjudgmental ear to my story that I put to others’ stories, I listened to the unfiltered version of my story. The filter of good versus bad was silenced, as it is not helpful in this instance. It can help us make distinctions when choosing behaviors. It is necessary. This situation is just not that simple and a dualistic approach is always flawed. Sometimes we do the right thing and it causes harm. Sometimes we do the wrong thing and good comes from it. 

There is often a shadow side to the very thing we value most in ourselves. 

I listened to the slowed version of my story, a particular relationship.  It contained all the complexities of who I am, one dimension handled poorly. Apologizing could not, did not, change it. Further access has been denied and I am now powerless to impact it in any way. My task is clear, to simply live with the reality, maintaining my dignity without denying my flaws. The natural world from every direction expresses the cycle of life, the sun sets and the sun rises, the leaves fall and buds open.  It is good to grieve losses, learn, and allow room for new life to grow.

I was surprised when it happened. The rain began to pour out of the clouds in torrents streaming over the skylight above me. I welcomed it. I hoped it would not relent. I wanted it to rain harder and harder. I needed it to rain harder and harder. It was not just rain. It was my tears! The sky was doing for me what I could not do for myself.  There was loud sobbing, more intense than I could ever have produced by myself.  There were no tears on my face, but the skylight was awash with them.  It continued to rain for a long time. It would diminish for a minute or two and then more torrents would fall.  

I don’t know how long it rained, but after the downfall subsided and finally ended, I opened the window so that I could smell the petrichor, the smell of the air after a rain. I have rarely cried, but I had the feeling that comes after a good cry.  Oxytocin and endorphins producing a physical sense of calm and well-being. Nothing has changed, but at least for now, there is a little more room for new life.