We Are Water

When I started thinking about writing about water… the clear place to begin was deep in my feelings. That emotional realm, for me,  is full of water and fluidity and flow.

Like water we flow, we freeze, we boil, we steam. We melt, we splash, we ooze, we surge. Like water we love, we fight, we ease, we hate. Like water we make a mess. Like water we clean it up. We learn that we get to decide what a “mess” really is. Like water we move in waves and cycles. 

Our bodies cycle, our minds cycle, our relationships cycle. On and on and on. 

I’ve experienced a lot of loss the past couple of years.

Loss of love. 

Loss of loved ones. 

Loss of stability. 

Loss of trust. 

Loss of norms. 

Loss of old versions of myself no longer needed on this journey. 

And navigating the sadness, the intensity, and the depth of the feelings has taught me a lot. 

I learned that - 

Grief is like the ocean. 

Sometimes it’s nice to float. 

Sometimes it's nice to get tossed around by the waves. 

Sometimes it’s scary when you’re pressed, or slammed violently, onto the sandy bottom. 

Sometimes it rips your swimsuit off - where you are the most vulnerable, naked, version of yourself. Unable to breathe. Unable to compete with the strength of that grief. 

Just surrender to it and let it take you away. 

Please, let yourself cry. 

You know what brings out the angriest, most violent version of myself?

When crying and tears are stifled. Stopped in their tracks. Referred to as ugly. When crying is treated like weakness. Like something shameful or disruptive. Others being told to “hold on, give me a minute, sorry” while we force our tears to stop their natural flow. Women desperately trying to compose their makeup, not letting their tears sweep their mascara away. People, going silent, avoiding these feelings when the tears bubble up from the depths. Children told, gently but firmly, “Shhh, you’re okay”—when they aren’t.

Who told us that tears were ugly? That emotion was something to be sterilized? Someone, something, along my cultural journey introduced this belief to me. And now that I am learning and loving and flowing along.. I’m realizing…

That. Makes. Me. Mad. 

How dare you take the magic and healing away from my tears? Away from my sorrow? My water?

How dare you call me or anyone ugly or even think to comment on appearance while this water flows out of us in our deepest moments of despair? How dare you? 

You've ruined it. You've ruined this priceless important sacred ritual and you know what happens next?

We’re trapped. 

The tears, the water is trapped. 

And what happens when water gets trapped?

It gets weird. It gets gross. 

Trapped water becomes a breeding ground. It turns to mildew, to rot. It grows things that fester. But not all water is still… some water moves.
Imagine a river being held in jar.

Imagine the glass, the container, doing it’s best to contain that rushing surge. That’s what happens when we hold back grief, rage, heartbreak. It doesn’t disappear. 

It waits until the conditions change. Until the jar is open and it can flow once again.

Water is almost impossible to hold, to grip. 

Have you ever tried to grip water? It will always slip away. 

Water is meant to flow flow flow. 

Our tears are meant to flow flow flow. 

The grief comes in, the tears move out. 

But please - don't forget. 

Our cycle of water flows in different ways, too. 

We drool. 

We urinate. 

We defecate. 

We bleed. 

We eat. 

We drink. 

We kiss. 

We laugh so hard tears come out of our eyes 

And sometimes we laugh so hard we pee a little bit. 

I’ve experienced a lot of JOY the past couple of years.

I have found love. 

I have discovered loved ones. 

I have gained stability. 

I have built trust. 

I have created new norms. 

I have discovered versions of myself that are critical for this journey. 

And navigating the joy, the gratitude, and the depth of those feelings has taught me a lot. 

Joy is also like the ocean. 

Sometimes, in laughter,  it’s nice to float. 

Sometimes it’s nice to get tossed around by the waves. 

Sometimes it’s scary when something so positive and so treasured presses, or slams you violently, onto the sandy bottom. 

Sometimes, that joy, it rips your swimsuit off - where you are the most vulnerable, naked, version of yourself. Unable to breathe. Unable to compete with the strength of that joy, that laughter. And maybe you even peed a little bit. 

Just surrender to it and let it take you away. 

Release your grip - you can’t hold on to water!

Let your water flow in sadness. 

Let your water flow in joy. 

Let it flow. 

Because when we stop trying to dam the current, life moves through us. We become the tide. The storm and the stillness. The flood and the faucet.

And maybe that’s the point.
To be water.
To live in the cycle.
To flow.