invitation.

Yesterday I organized wedding invitations & photos on my kitchen fridge. I laughed: realizing there isn’t a wedding i’ve attended these last four years where i didn’t slip away to the decorated, hairspray-, bobby-pin-, and tampon-stocked bathroom to cry.

i hope in these inevitable moments that there’s no line of women outside of the stall waiting to pee or hiding 12 bobbypins in their hair who might hear. also inevitable: there are always women waiting for a stall. so, I cue the silent stream of tears in lieu of audibly heavy sobs. One wedding, the tears wouldn’t stop so I left early. I didn’t really know anyone but the bride and groom there anyway, and didn’t bring anyone when I rolled up in my aunt’s truck, borrowed for the night. because i knew no one, i could slip away from the bathroom completely unnoticed. But then, the bride’s aunt saw me and stopped me on my way out. I wasn’t a face streaked with mascara or smudged eyeshadow (I actually take sincere pride in remedying a made-up but now post-waterfall face. I’ll be vain for a second to flaunt that I’m really good at the ‘no I’m so totally fine!’ expression and the ‘just needed some fresh air’ line). But for some reason, she stopped me.

“Hey, weddings always show the best parts of our lives,” she said, hugging me in close (though I barely remembered her name). “Real life isn’t always like this.” All I wanted was to leave unnoticed and flee the night, but stayed for a few seconds in her hug, whispering thank you, hoping I could hold it all in a bit longer, til I did in fact get out for some fresh air. I made my way into the parking lot under a cloudless sky, pregnant with baby stars that lit the night, put the keys in my truck-for-the-night, and i drove home.

I’m forever ashamed of these kinds of tears. What if they flow from an ocean of jealousy or self-pity or wondering why I’m still single (holding simultaneously that we can also attend a weddings with a partner in hand and nonetheless feel more empty within than showing up alone). What if these tears come from the stark realization that I’m not sure I’ve ever known the kind of love portrayed in one engagement shot and encapsulated in a wedding invitation, hung on my fridge?

Yesterday at my fridge, I moved past them being shameful, jealous tears. They were tears of a deep depression, the heart work of the trauma we find ourselves lost in, without awareness of the ground lost under our feet, grieving the loss of a loved one, and the fear that someone I love wouldn’t make it to the next day. Leaving these heavy emotions at the door, where we’ve checked our coats, isn’t always possible. We still hold them at the event (wedding, baby shower, engagement party) that fully bares emotions in direct contrast to our internal system. We hold the red to the violet of a rainbow all at once, while it continues to rain down.

I can be overjoyed for dearest friends on days that reflect true, tangible love, father-daughter dances, champagne toasts, and dancing til collapsing. i can show up “not quite so happy” and still feel completely overjoyed. Perhaps to hold both in one’s heart is presence. Being human. Embodying love.

Oh, to go back and hug the younger me in every wedding stall she’s sobbed in. I’d certainly give her a fist bump for wiping streams of mascara and re-applying eyeliner & lipstick (if she felt like it) and getting back to the dance floor, cuz that’s what she did.