Today my body has, once again, felt like seven-day-old leftovers–questionable. Like, this could go either way. On the outside, I look fine. (Damn fine, bitch.) But seriously. My face is a little red with histamine (or something), but it’s only noticeable if you stand close and know what you’re looking for. My nose is a bit snotty, but I’m breathing fine–that’s not a problem. But my energy is shit. I keep thinking, I know my body can feel better than this. I just know it. Come on, body, let’s do this. My body’s response to this pep talk?

Crickets.

Proudly, I’ve stayed off the internet. I have, however, been playing around with my vitamin regimen, laying off everything for a few days to see if that makes a difference, adding things back in. And whereas one day’s a little better, one day’s a little worse, outside factors like vitamins and diet don’t seem to make a difference. This is why you have a smart doctor, I keep telling myself. This is her mystery to solve now. Honestly, I’m eager for her to figure things out. I’m not-so-patiently waiting for my blood work to come back and for that referral to the immunologist, who hopefully won’t be booked solid. My doctor said I should hear something soon, but two-thousand years ago Christ said he’d be returning “soon,” so that word obviously means different things to different people.

Even so, Lord Jesus, come quickly.

In addition to feeling wiped out, I’ve also felt weepy today. Everything has brought on tears–YouTube videos, “that one song,” poems by Maya Angelou. Maya Angelou can almost always make me cry. (May she rest in peace.) I don’t know, maybe feeling like the bug on a front of a windshield provides the ideal environment for tears. Like a left-on light at a Motel 6 says to a weary traveler, perhaps a weary body tells grief and sadness, “You’re welcome here.” This is something I’ve been thinking about today, the “benefits” to being sick, the “gift” of getting knocked on your ass and being unable to stand up no matter how hard you try.

I recently read that all inner and spiritual growth begins with the cry, “Help.” This makes a lot of sense to me. When you feel well and everything is going your way, it’s easy to feel invincible, to think you can do everything by yourself. But when the wheels of your life fall off, when you can’t find the brakes, and when all you can do is hold on for dear life, you suddenly find yourself in the land of vulnerability, this scary, tender place with shaky, uneven ground where there’s nothing to hold on to. First you fall, then you fall some more. You can’t see where you’re going. You think, I’m in the dark here.

You think, Help.

My Reiki teacher says there are two types of people in the world. Those who like Neil Diamond and those who don’t. (Just kidding. That’s what the movie What About Bob? says.) My Reiki teacher says the two types of people are grief people and anger people, meaning that if you’re holding on to something inside, it’s either “a deep sadness” or “a deep rage.” As I understand this theory, healing requires letting go of that thing you can’t let go of. In my case, I’m a grief person. When I think about the injustices in my life and in the world, the waters run long before the fires burn. Not that I never feel anger. I certainly do. But anger, for me, is a shallow well. The Grief Well, however–that’s the one with the deepest waters.

Lately I’ve been wondering just how deep the sadness within me goes. Considering what I’ve lived through, I think, Pretty deep. Considering what my family has lived through, I think, Pretty fucking deep. With this is mind, I’m really trying to be patient with the healing process. Of course, some days, when I cry at the drop of a hat, I think, This again? Haven’t we dealt with this already? I mean, I’ve been in therapy for almost four years. I’ve read more self-help books in the last six months than most people read in a lifetime. I know what my “issues” are. But I’m finding that healing for the mind is very different from healing for the body. The body remembers–it holds on to everything. And whether it’s a deep sadness or a deep rage, your body won’t let go of it until it’s ready, until it’s safe to.

This, I think, is the sweet spot of having done plenty of personal work. A lot of people think crying is something to be ashamed of. As a society, it’s something we hide and apologize for. Granted, it’s not “pretty” like smiling or laughing. And yet we were designed to express all our emotions, not just the socially acceptable ones. We weren’t meant to hold on to any of them. But having done enough of what my friend Elisabeth calls The Hard Work, I can easily say I don’t care what society says. If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever. (Maybe I’m a tad bit of an anger person.) This is the sweet spot I’m talking about, being strong enough to finally let yourself feel weak and vulnerable, being able to stand on shaky ground and watch your world fall apart having full confidence that it will eventually be put back together in a better way, knowing that the deepest waters are the only ones capable of carrying you home.