blue funk

"Just say OK. All they want to hear is OK."

"But what if I'm not OK?"

"It doesn't matter. Just say OK."

My husband and I had this conversation a number of times over the years. I used to answer "how are you doing?" as if it were meant literally and not as a small-talk convention. No one wants to hear that your back hurts or that you have three research papers due the same day, he would say. It came naturally to him with his buttoned-up upbringing, but it felt culturally alien to me. After enough years of startled looks that said "that's not how it works - you say you're OK, I say I'm OK" I finally gave in.

Although I still have to fight the urge to say what I'm really thinking, I've grown used to the convention. The hard part is when I'm scared or desperately sad. When I'm hurting, I withdraw. If not for Eliza begging to go somewhere every day, I wouldn't have left the house these last few weeks. I'm grateful in a way - her insistence on getting out sometimes keeps me from dwelling on my sadness for a short time. I laugh. I smile. Then alone with my thoughts once more, I ache.

Twice in the last few weeks I broke character with the same person. I'm not entirely sure why - maybe there's something about her that made me less scared about feeling vulnerable. In any case, I didn't say OK for once, which brought a moment of relief followed by regret - I wished I could take it back. Was there anything she could do, she wanted to know, and I sensed she meant it. There's nothing anyone can do, I thought to myself. But what she said next, each time, stayed with me. What I had offered was just the tip of the iceberg of my despair, but that tip started to melt. I debated about whether to tell her that her gesture meant a lot to me. I lack the courage and articulateness to tell her in person, so I thought about sending a short e-mail, but again I hesitated for fear of sounding shmaltzy. Early this morning, I read something she wrote that spoke to me, and it has been rattling around in my head in the hours since. I never intended to post about my blue funk, preferring to stick to emotionally safe topics like Eliza's mischief, but after reading that, I knew I had to write this. If she happens to be reading this, just know I am grateful.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled food, books, and mischief posts.