big girls don't cry

I was walking across the same carpark where I discovered my newfound adulthood.

This time it wasn't a walk of self-discovery, rather it was an indignant stride of self-destruction.

My throat was getting sore from holding it all back, being brave and trying desperately not to fall apart.

I had made it through a 45 minute drive with work colleagues, after a lunch full of trying to be Miss Manners.

Big girls don't cry. Not in front of your boss. Not in front of your boss for the third or fourth time this year.

I made it to the video store, through the supermarket and through various department stores without cracking.

Big girls don't cry. Not in the presence of strangers.

I made it back to my house where my housemate, her other half and his kid were lounging around. Normally I'm ok to be sociable. Not that day, certainly not on the verge of tears.

I made it to the shower and let it all out.

Big girls don't cry until they hit the shower where fresh water washes away salt water as if it was never there in the first place.

God has a lot to answer for when trying to teach the importance of patience.