Plot Twist.
The tears started brimming up in her eyes as soon as she hit the up button to call the elevator. “Slow, deep breaths,” she repeated to herself over and over, “that’s the way to curb the flow.” She prayed silently that no one else would enter the building, she just needed to get into her apartment before anyone saw her lose control before she had to cover up her emotions and be a personable neighbor.
The elevator was so slow, Cassie could count four beats from when the bell harbinging its arrival sounded and the doors actually opened. With a relieved exhale that was more of sigh, she swiftly got on and pushed the ‘4’ once and then twice to get it to light up.
The click of the outside door made her stand ramrod straight and almost stop breathing. With eyes stretched wide she stood still, listening to the clamor of people coming inside. She didn’t start breathing again until she watched the elevator doors slide closed before anyone else could get inside. Normally, Cassie would have held the elevator doors just in case since she completely understood the frustration of having to wait for the needy elevator. She was glad it didn’t get awkward. Her neighbors couldn’t see her and were moving slowly anyway, stopping to check their mail. Potential embarrassing situation averted.
The typically leisurely ride felt like it took years and her eyes burned with the weight of unshed tears. She’d been actively avoiding thinking about the end of her relationship or anything that might bring on a tide of emotion–the cats that were no longer hers, the comfort of her old routine, her ex’s hugs. All of it was pushed away and down during the day. Only at this moment when she was entering her home did the force of the feelings make themselves known. They bubbled up without permission. It was automatic and almost pavlovian—she walked into the building and a deep sob started to release from her body.
Cassie dreaded entering her apartment. It had taken on an aura of sadness and she despised that. How did that happen? It was supposed to be her new start, her very own place and she hated it that it had turned into a cave of regret and pain. She felt trapped inside on clear, blue days unable to move and only wanting to remain still. Time would slink by, the sun creeping along the walls and she would remain curled up and turned inside. It was a crazy conundrum–needing to get into the apartment to be alone and cry and not wanting to be in the apartment alone and crying.
The elevator finally arrived at her floor and after an eternity the doors finally opened and set her free. She rushed down the hallway to get to her door before a neighbor opened theirs and put the key in the lock. The tears pushed over her eyelids and fell freely down her face as she pushed the door open with ambivalent relief.
She walked in, placed her bag down, took off her shoes and looked around. Something felt different today. Nothing physical had changed, the table was still a little cluttered, there were still too few pieces of furniture, but there was a distinctly different feeling in the air. It took Cassie by surprise and she stood there for a few minutes to sort through all that she was feeling. There mixed in with the sadness and the usual feeling of dread to be home was a warmth that touched her in her heart center and blossomed through her body.
She was surprised to find that instead of walking into her studio apartment, she had been welcomed into a loving embrace. It all clicked into place. All the time that she was releasing her grief into her home, she wasn’t muddying it up, ruining it, she had been christening it. It was made into a sacred space. She continued to cry but this time as she let the sobs rip through her she allowed herself to feel a new gratitude. Thank you for this place, thank you for the space to be raw and vulnerable, thank you for keeping me safe.
After this release that was by now a daily ritual, Cassie felt lighter and cleansed. She climbed into her soft covers and propped herself up on the pillows with her book. Snuggling down and in deeper she held the book unopened in her hands and looked at her room. The old chair, the new desk, all her green plants lined up on the bookshelf, all of it, took on a new hue. My home. Me. It’s filled up to the rim, practically overflowing, with ‘me’. Knowing this in the deep place in her heart brought more tears to her eyes. She let them fall without wiping them away. She was allowed to cry here. She could do anything here. Without knowing what she had been doing, Cassie had created a haven that reflected her own soul and gave her permission to be whatever she needed to be. All because she surrendered to what she was feeling time and time again without (too much) judgment. This was an interesting plot twist. As a content smile transformed her wet cheeks, she cracked open her book and began reading, excited to see how the next chapter in the story would unfold.
