Sitting with Sadness

The lost art of making time to feel

Photo via Canva.

I feel sad.

I don’t really want to get into the why of it. I’m merely stating a fact of my life at this present moment in time. I may not feel sad tomorrow. But I do today.

I am not wallowing. Wallowing implies a certain lack of self-restraint. I’m not greedy for my sadness. I have no intention of exploiting it.

I don’t want to numb my sadness, rationalize my sadness, or strain it through a smile. Periodically throughout the day, I need to tuck it away, but it still tugs at the corners of my eyes, stirs in my stomach, leans against my chest. It is there, waiting. And when I am alone, it unfolds, unfurls, and wraps around me.

I just want to sit with it for a while.

I was feeling angry, not too long ago, but my anger has already ripped through me, leaving me with the slow heft of sadness and occasional tears. I let them slide, feel the wet and salt trace pathways down my cheeks.

Anger seethes and rages. It is important to acknowledge, but difficult to sit with. Often there is sadness at the center of our anger, a blue flame burning quietly. And yet, we let ourselves become consumed by the blaze. We are hungry for it, for the heat and the righteousness and the thrill of our own racing hearts.