I have been thinking lately about moments of crazy. I have been thinking about how no one, no matter who you are, what your career is, what degrees or accolades you have, is above those moments of crazy.
I have also been thinking about that word “crazy” and the way that it gets applied to women.
Are they in fact, a little crazy, or do they outwardly display sometimes, all the pain of the people they love, that they tend to carry for them?
Generally speaking, women often support and hold others together. They do what needs to be done so their partners and children can thrive. They support others in the workplace and also try to find some balance for themselves.
All this is a little “crazy”-making.
I am currently listening to Iyanla Vanzant’s audiobook during my crazy-making commute to work (which has increased to 90 minutes, one way, on some days). Ed loaned it to me, it’s called Peace from Broken Pieces, and he told me to make sure I tell him when I get to the part about the broccoli.
I had no clue what he meant at that time, but now I completely get it.
Iyanla is talking about the grief she feels in the months following the death of her daughter, whom she lost to cancer. Iyanla describes a day when she walks into what she refers to as an “affluent, organic grocery store” and sees broccoli in the produce section. Her daughter loved broccoli and for no and every reason, this triggered all her pent up grief. She had a complete breakdown, cried and threw herself on the broccoli and made a HUGE scene.
I am imagining that she was at Whole Foods, with all these white people looking at this African-American woman crying and wailing over broccoli. It must have been quite the scene, but was it a moment of crazy? Or, was it completely appropriate for the profound loss she had just experienced and the task of trying to keep it all together?
Ed & I have both had our share of moments of crazy. I no longer feel embarrassed to text him in the middle of those times. He does not judge me for them and doesn’t make me feel like there is something wrong with me, because I am crying for no describable (at least at the moment) reason, or because I cannot get off the floor of my bathroom. (Two things that both happened this week. Don’t worry, I am OK.)
I love Patsy Cline’s song, Crazy. I think most of us women can relate to feeling like they wasted too much time on the wrong man.
But, is it really fair to describe yourself as “Crazy” for feeling lonely, feeling blue, crying, trying, worrying, wondering or not knowing what to do? I think these are pretty normal feelings in the development and growth of a woman. I still struggle with society’s view of woman as emotional, and therefore, mentally unstable beings. And yet, I understand and view it in the lens of my own reluctance to share my moments of “crazy” from this past week.
Either way, I love this song and can imagine myself singing it in produce section, into a stalk of broccoli.