More than a week ago, I cut my thumb while cutting an onion.

Fascinating stuff, isn’t it?

It was a weird moment for me, as I watched the blood run from the cut…there was an odd sense of peace and my thoughts were allowed to crystallize: I needed to stop.
I grabbed a paper towel to put pressure on the wound, and went to sit down at the dinner table…and that was when I just lost it. I started crying, and soon enough, I sounded like some muffled dying cat. I wasn’t sure what I was crying about but I knew that it was long overdue.

As I sat there, bleeding thumb and running eyeliner in tow, I was reminded of a conversation I had with a friend a while back about family. We were both wondering how some families manage to be so “role-appropriate” (parents do this, children do that)...are we just odd ones out? Somehow, was I destined to ponder grocery lists and bank statements and laundry while other folks got to think about buying new boots and where to go on the weekend? I knew I was beyond this…and I don’t particularly care for doing “age appropriate” things, but I have to admit that I think about it sometimes. And perhaps sometimes, I just need to acknowledge that it gets hard and that I need to cry. Crying allows me to get back up, realize my own silliness, and move on.

I accept where I am and the struggles it may bring…but I also accept all the joys that come with learning and loving in this manner.