On Fridays we cry

(including me)

When my sons were little, we got through every week in a style akin to an avalanche. Mondays felt like we had an entire week to fit everything in, explore a land of possibility. As the week went on we built up speed and stuff, more and more momentum, less and less control. And by Friday someone, or everyone, (including me) would be in tears.

One Friday, when someone was maxed out (including me) I declared, “On Fridays, we cry.”

Once that pattern became clear it was comforting to know what to expect. It was just the end of the week, not the end of the world. We could look ahead to soften the crash landing. Order take out food. Watch a movie. Make no plans.

Of course they got older, and Fridays filled up with activities, friends, sports, rehearsals. But still more often than not someone would be melting down (including me) and right when we thought something was really wrong, I would realize, ooooh, it is FRIDAY. Just let it be ok to not be ok, forgive the grumpiness, give space for the grace.

Just last week, one of my now-adult sons was stuck in a funk. And right about when I started to feel their feelings and go into a spin of solving, I remembered—it was Friday.

I can just let Friday be Friday. I can soften the edges that will give, leave the rest. I can let it not be ok. I don’t have to feel their feelings, or get on the rollercoaster.

I am trying to give this same space to myself— the avalanche of the week now looks like the news, insurance bullshit, appointments, bills, menopause, my insistence of carrying other people’s stress, etc. By the end of the week it is still just too much. Crash. It is time for some takeout, forgiveness, and grace (including me.)

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(Note: this post was written on a Monday obvi)