Soft Spots

A few weeks ago, I went back to church. I haven’t been there for a while, because of a lot of things. Kids, craft shows, exhaustion…lots of things. Our kids are very involved in our church community, which I love, so I decided I need to step up and show up again.

The second I walked into our lovely, joyful, wonderful church, I second guessed my decision. As a friend wrapped me in a bear hug, I remembered the real reason I haven’t been to church very much recently.

My church makes me cry.

Our church is “contemporary.” Which means we have a rock band to lead our anthems and our pastor wears jeans and has a message that welcomes everyone in any walk of life. I love it. Everything about our church gives me the feels.

But when I get a case of the feels, I feel weak and vulnerable. I feel like there’s a chink in my armor and the façade that I have carefully put together in order to carry on under unimaginable stress begins to crumple. It feels uncomfortable. From the songs we sing, to the hugs friends give, to the message the pastor speaks about hope and unconditional love— it all makes me feel. Which makes me feel like sobbing big, ugly sobs through the whole service.

I was chatting with my parents after this particular Sunday when I went back to church. I told them how I feel like crying every time I go. My dad, who is a pastor, said that’s because church is a soft spot, and my life is hard. So when I find a soft spot, it makes me a little weepy.

A lot of things make me cry when our family is in crisis mode. I try my best to stay away from those things that crack my hard candy shell and reveal my raw vulnerability. I try to stay away from them because I worry that once I crack and start letting out the feelings, they’ll overtake me and I’ll never recover, never stop crying. It’s better, easier, to just stay strong and carry on.

I had been able to have a part time job that I absolutely loved during the past couple months. But then the pieces of my life began to unravel as not one, but two, children fell into crisis. I had to scramble to pull out our resources, to figure out how to help my kids, to get their needs met. I had to figure out what schools needed for documentation to excuse my boy from school because he is in a PANDAS flare and anxiety is through the roof, making it difficult for him to function. I had a crash course in therapeutic day schools and partial hospitalization programs for teens who have anxiety and OCD. I hit the ground running and am doing the best I can to meet everyone’s needs.

In the midst of all this chaos, my coworkers were incredible. They understood me and empathized with me. One day, I drove my son to his therapeutic school- an hour away. He had a very tough morning because of anxiety and it was extremely difficult to get him to stay at his school. I finally got him situated, and drove the hour back home to work until it was time to pick my boy up again.

I cried most of that hour-long ride home. This is hard, people! This whole parenting, grieving, figuring out how to help your kids thing is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do! To watch your babies suffer is torture.

I pulled myself together and leaned my head out the window into the cold wind as I drove the last few minutes to work, so my eyes would look somewhat normal again. When I got to work, my three supervisors were in the front office. One pulled me aside and gave me a gift bag. She said, “I want you to know I care about you.” I said, “Listen, don’t make me cry again. I just got done weeping for an hour.” I pulled out a beautiful gift, and read the tiny card attached to it. I burst into tears. My sweet friend said, “Maybe you should read the big card when you get home.” I laughed through my tears and gave her a hug. And then went into the bathroom to pull myself together, again.

I came out of the bathroom and tried to hold in my tears as I popped in the front office to apologize once more for being late. My friends all said they understood, not to worry. One supervisor said, “We have such a soft spot for you, Carrie.” They went on to say thoughtful, beautiful, kind things. To which I responded by completely breaking down again. I sobbed, “I already told all of you, you’re not supposed to be so nice to me because then I cry!!”

Then a coworker from the classroom I worked in stuck her head in the office. She saw me crying and enveloped me in her nurturing, supportive arms. I cried more. I went into my classroom and my other two coworkers were equally as kind to me, so I cried some more. I told them it’s so hard for me to hold it together when I’m confronted with pockets of kindness and empathy. They said it’s ok to cry, you can’t hold it in all the time.

I felt like explaining that if I start crying, I’ll just keep crying. And I could cry all day every day, at this point. Because our family is facing some scary, intimidating, dark stuff.

I’ve realized that whenever I hit a soft spot in my life, a place where I don’t have to keep my armor up, it’s uncomfortable because I feel vulnerable and so emotional. I guess we need soft spots once in a while, to let out our feels, to let out the stress. But when I find myself in a soft spot, I feel so emotional that I’m worried I’ll never recover, never be able to stop crying.

I’m a work in progress. I’m trying to find a balance between being strong and letting in softness. I’m not good at navigating the soft spots, but I’m so grateful for the bits of beauty and grace in my life that show me what it means to be soft.

I’ll keep practicing.