crying over brownies.

I jumped behind the couch before I had a chance to process the peculiarity of it. I tucked my knees, wrapped my arms around my body, and the dam broke. As I cried, it began to dawn on me how ridiculous this must look.

After all, the crammed-between-the wall-and-the-back-of-a-sectional in a dark room doesn’t really scream “dignified” in my book (or “sane” for that matter).

And why, you may ask, am I hiding behind a couch, crying and shaking like it’s the start of the apocalypse?

Because I ate a brownie.

I ate a brownie to challenge my eating disorder. Clearly the eating disorder fought back (I’ll spare you the inner dialogue).

I discovered something in that moment behind the couch:

It is incredibly vulnerable to cry over brownies.

I have a loud inner critic that informs me almost 24/7 that the things that hurt me “shouldn’t hurt” or that the feelings I have shouldn’t be “that intense” or that those raw, sensitive parts of my heart “shouldn’t exist” and/or “don’t matter.”

You’re crying about a BROWNIE, Joanna! C’mon! This is idiotic.

And that’s the reason I jumped behind the couch.

Because in my heart of hearts I believe that no one should see me cry over such a “stupid” thing. That my feelings are wrong and nobody should see them. My feelings are too much. I am too much. That the most appropriate and logical thing to do in moments of intense emotion is to go away.

So, I hide. Behind couches, yes… but most often beneath a mountain of “right” answers, independence, introvert excuses and productivity.

In truth, I would rather discuss difficult emotions for hours upon end than feel them for 90 seconds. And heaven forbid there is another human in the room with me when I feel them. I don’t want to be seen crying over brownies. How embarrassing.

Let’s be real, I wasn’t crying about the brownie.

There is a tender part in my heart that aches from years and years of believing that what I eat is a direct reflection of my value as a human being. That if I don’t do that area of my life perfectly, I won’t be seen and I won’t be loved.

So, I wasn’t crying about the brownie. I was crying because it hurts to be unseen, unknown, and unloved. It’s hurts to challenge the voice in my head that is convinced that this is all dependent on the brownie. Even more than that, it hurts that I have believed this since I was a little girl, and as a result, invited the wrecking ball of an eating disorder into my life.

It hurts.

I was crying because it hurts.

And pain is so vulnerable.

Maybe for you it’s not a brownie. Maybe it’s a comment your partner made (or didn’t make), or the job you didn’t get, or craving the substance you are trying to give up, or the flashbacks, or the cancelled appointment, or coming home to an empty apartment, or the unmet expectation that your family will know what to say and when…

Sometimes it just hurts.

Can we learn how to say things like that? To feel things like that? Things like:

I’m hurting
I’m sad/mad/disappointed/confused..etc
It hurt when…
I feel unlovable
I’m struggling with my inner critic
I’m so tired
I need encouragement
I’m scared
I feel ashamed
I don’t have all the answers
Will you help me?

And I don’t just mean when life is crisis. I mean in the brownie moments. In those little things that really are not little at all. I personally try to wait until the big moments to have my meltdowns. You know, the screaming-in-my-face-billboard-you-are-DEFINITELY-not-ok moments.

I want to learn to be brave in the brownie moments.

To tell those tender parts of my heart “you matter” and to invite them to have a place in my life (my not-hiding-behind-the-couch-life). To feel the hurts, even if the cause seems “idiotic.” To allow myself to be seen and loved in those spaces.

This is new territory for me.

I’m scared
I feel ashamed
I don’t have all the answers
and sometimes it just hurts.

If that means crying over brownies, so be it.