It's 2:25 in the morning.
Derek's stomach was growling so he made himself a bowl of Cheerios. I whispered, hoping not to wake our sleeping dog who would greet us with ear-shattering howls, "Have you ever, in your life, been satisfied by a bowl of cereal?" He smiled and kissed me, "I like Cheerios."
Not Honey Nut, mind you. Plain Jane, nothing added, bland give-to-a-teething-baby kind of Cheerios.
He's a simple man. He's a kind man, full of generosity, who appreciates simple things.
We'd gone to bed at 9:00pm. A glass of wine with dinner made us both a bit sleepy. It was the first day I didn't have to take pain medication, just a bit of ibuprofen. I was ready to rest.
It was midnight when I woke to Derek, trying to sneak out of our bedroom. He felt terrible for waking me. I assured him that he didn't need to. I know I'm a light sleeper. I often need to get up in the middle of the night.
An hour and a half later, he returned, apologizing again for waking me. I reiterated that I am glad he got up. He didn't need to worry.
(He's now walking into the office with the whole box of Cheerios. He makes me smile.)
We made it about an hour before we both couldn't stand lying in bed anymore. He was hungry. After asking me to listen to the whale sounds beneath his navel, he got up for his bowl of Cheerios. I got up to write this.
When we both settled into the office, he told me, "I listened to that song you sent me and I think it describes you well. I think you're very good at looking like you're not carrying heavy things."
"Did you watch the video?"
"Oh, no, I'd looked up the lyrics because I had trouble making out some of the words. I never went back to the video."
"You should watch the video, too. That's what you are for me."
I immediately felt an opportunity lost. Redirecting to the video took attention away from the song itself, and how he saw me in the lyrics. That was part of the point, too. I learned how to pre-save songs on Spotify because of this song, "Carry It Well" by Sam Fischer. I cried when I heard it the first time.
Just because I carry it well
doesn't mean it isn't heavy
and I don't need some help
I know I keep it locked down
but all I want now
is somebody who can tell me how it's gonna turn out
cause I thought I'd be doing better by now
I thought I'd be doing better by now
But don't I carry it well?
I resonate for many reasons. I don't enjoy sharing "sad" songs because I don't like creating scripted interactions.
1. I share a sad song
2. person I shared with asks "are you okay"
3. I unburden
I don't like the way that makes me feel. It has more to do with how I feel about myself than the other person in the interaction. I don't want to be an attention-seeker. I want to avoid coercing people into caring for me. If someone asks, "Are you okay?" I want it to come from them noticing something may be off with me, not because I sent them an alarm bell in the form of a sad song. But, at the same time, that last line of the chorus also rings a bit too true, "But don't I carry it well?" I want validation that I'm carrying these heavy burdens well. I'm strong. Mighty. Self-sufficient. I want recognition and admiration for my ability to handle the rough hand I'm dealt with precision and excellence.
But I also want a hug.
I want to know it'll get better.
I am so disappointed with myself that I'm not further along.
I thought I'd be doing better by now.
Before getting out of bed, I was planning to write. I'm sad. I'm disappointed with myself. I'm in pain. I'm exhausted and restless. I feel like my body is far too big and it is my fault for gaining weight and losing muscle mass. I want to cry.
At the same time, I have a sweet husband who wants me to listen to his growling stomach and who eats Cheerios happily while building his own story on his computer. He listened to the song I sent. He saw me in it. He made sure I knew he noticed. He makes me feel more human, rather than a void existing to consume all that is around me into darkness.
That’s why I wanted him to see the video, too. It shows how impactful it is to have someone who makes you feel safe and seen.
No one does that better than Derek. He is my late night call. He’s the person I am most comfortable reaching toward when I feel too many things too loudly. Tonight, I wanted him to know.
I know I had a point before I got out of bed. I was going to write something, probably sad, but relatable. And now I'm just more tired and bummed than anything else- not profoundly anything- just mildly bummy while still wanting to smile at my husband.
He helps me carry it well.
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