Big Girls Don’t Cry

Whoever said that is a liar. I’m not a fan of liars.

Big girls do cry. Sometimes, they try to stifle it, because once you grow up and get to this place, you’re supposed to be strong and hold your head up all the time. Tears are a sign of weakness, and we don’t have time for that right now.

And then there are times when the dam breaks. The tears not only flow freely, but they rush like a river, landing on the homework, bills, and laundry that have piled up over the course of the week.

I have waited my whole life to get to this point. I dressed up in little white veils, played house, and made my younger sister pretend to be my child as I stuffed her into my baby doll cradle and force fed her a bottle. My parents told me to hold onto my youth. All the while, I was packing up Youth’s bags and shipping her out the door. If growing up too fast had been an Olympic sport, you got it, that medal would have had my name all over it.

No one tells you that adulthood not only comes with bills, but also not enough money to pay them. It comes with the heartache of losing people near and dear to your heart, be it to death or simply to distance. Physical distance or that natural drift that seems to occur post grad. Adulthood doesn’t come with sick days, homework passes, or snow days. And adulthood definitely doesn’t accept excuses.

Adulthood is at my front door. Beckoning for me to answer. And for some reason, tonight, after waiting a lifetime for him to show up, I just want the bastard to leave me alone.

I’m not one to complain. I have a very blessed life. In this rough economy, I am lucky to have (somewhat) dependable employment. I am blessed to have the opportunity to receive an excellent education. I have a wonderful support system of family and friends, the love of an incredible man.

I just have a long lost friend. Her name is Childhood. And right now, I’d give anything to pick up the phone and hear her voice again.