The eyeliner incident, but not really


Last week I cried because the wrong color eyeliner was in my box from Sephora. Cried. Ugly, Schmoopy needed to hold me cry. It was about as awful as a Dobby from HP kind of cry. My patient, kind, loving husband who doesn’t always understand but loves without judgement and so fiercely, let me thrash it out. And thank God for that man! The kicker: It wasn’t even Sephora’s fault. I ordered the wrong one. That kinda sucked, too, because I couldn’t even blame anyone but me. There was a roach at the bottom of my coffee cup only a few days later. It was like a message saying, just go with it…you will be fine. But, I wasn’t in the mood for that message. Or much of anything, really. Roller coaster emotions. I hate them

It wasn’t the eyeliner I was crying over, for real. It was so many things, huge and insignificant, that had me sobbing. I have a strange sense of unease this school year (as a teacher, my life is measured in these school years, rather than fiscal years, or calendar years, like non-teachers see the world). It is a thing that has causes and mysteries, none of which are easy to name. And these unnameable things grow even bigger and more fierce without names. Like they can roam free and do anything they like, because they have no way to be called or caught.

I am fighting this, all of it. I’m searching for these longings to be settled and an ease that just won’t come. Some of it is the societal demand of being a teacher in a time that keeps blaming and trying to fix without knowing or really supporting. Without loving. Some of it is my heart that wishes for big huge giant things that cannot be, like my Poppi, or my Yankee Jane kitty girl, or my sweet baby Hope. Some of it is that horrid stupid empty that is infertility and the feeling of powerless that wraps itself around me and squeezes, as 40 draws more near, as friends become parents time and again while still I wait. I talk & text with my dear friends and they rage with me and fuss with me and give me hugs across the miles. Even though I know they hurt with me and they would fix it, if they could. They’d kick some ass and set fires. And I love them. So freaking hard. So, so, so much.

But this still sits on my chest like a beast. Some of it is the nightmares, both tiny and raging, that keep me edgy and sleepy and up too early. Most of it is a fear of those Dark Times returning, even thought I know I’m in a better place now and I won’t fall like that again. But also knowing that I could, so quickly and easily, I could. This is an ugly temper tantrum in a crowded store. This isn’t about the eyeliner. Or the coffee roach. Or the entire blender full of green smoothie that jumped out my hands at 5:30 this morning & coated the floor, walls, and appliances with greenish blue muck. It isn’t about one thing, large or small. It is everything. And nothing.

Then tonight I went to my teacher book club. And I was tired &  grumpy. And I didn’t really want to go. But I went. And I laughed. And I laughed. Laughed. We talked about all of the awesome that happens in our classrooms and all of the awful, too. It was so right. So raw. So real. But not in a sad way. Not in a complaining way. It was just what I needed.


When I got home it was late & I was tired. Way tired. Teacher Tired, but so much happier. I logged into my MADE course  and read this:

“I am here to remind you
your life is heartbreakingly gorgeous even when it’s heartbreakingly . . . heartbreaking.
I am here to remind you
we can speak with the Divine
even when our words come out all ugly, when we want to swear,
when we scream why,
when we have nothing left to say.
I am here to remind you
you are loved––beyond measure, beyond any boundary:
you are loved, you are loved, you are loved,
you are the child of Love
and expression of Love
and outpouring of Love.”

It was a gift. A hug. A prayer. Love.
And I knew, really knew, that I would be okay. Because of love, and laughter, and friendship. And love. So much Love.

Please say a prayer or two, offer a smile to those who need it, be kinder than necessary. Be strong for those who are weak. I am trying. Always trying.


  1. Smash Attack
    Twitter: SmashAttackAsh

    I love you, Mandee!

  2. So sorry for your losses. Sometimes the ugly crying jag helps you heal. Once when I was having a bad day after my husband passed away, I bought a box of glasses & threw them against a brick wall. It really made me feel better. 🙂 sometimes it is the oddest things that help.

Speak Your Mind