A few months ago, I published a post about tantrums, pitching an idea for an adult tantrum centre where we (at 25, I think I can include myself in the adult category, despite my glittery runners and sticker collection) could go to blow off steam, by screaming and stamping our feet in a controlled environment. The idea has yet to be picked up by developers but I remain optimistic.

As a follow-up, I would like to propose another establishment for dealing with emotions in an alternative way.

The Misery Spa

The name needs work.

This wouldn’t be a place for depression, for that you need something more sophisticated. Just for good old-fashioned sadness.

It’s something we all get, it’s normal to feel sad when a sad thing happens. A loss, a rejection, a disappointment.

And people will want to cheer you up. Look on the bright side, it could be worse, smile and the whole world smiles with you. Or whatever. They’re not wrong, and their intentions are admirable, but sometimes you just need to feel sad.

You know, realistically, that you will not feel sad forever. We’re built to feel a whole range of emotions, you’ll get to try them all out. But you need time, and space. My suggestion is a place you can do this in peace.

Somewhere you can quite literally wallow. Deep baths so you can’t tell where the water ends and the tears begin. Boxes of chocolates and alcohol so you can indulge while you self-indulge. No mirrors so you can’t see yourself ugly cry. No phones allowed so you can’t get any messages saying “u ok hun? x”. No, I’m not okay. And that’s okay.

I don’t want to come across like I’m advocating a world in which anyone with unsightly emotions should be hidden away, and only those with bright smiles and joy in their souls should be allowed in public, but this is the world we live in. Nobody wants to see miserable crying people any more than they want to see a fully grown adult stomping their feet in a rage. It’s weird and uncomfortable. This is my suggestion on how to accommodate everyone.

Sadness isn’t fun. Obviously. But it has its place. Sometimes I like to reflect on the fact that at least I know I can feel things. The tears and pit in my stomach are evidence of my humanity. I mean, they’re crap and I hate them, and I rarely come over all grateful and mindful while drowning in my own tragedy, but it can be a small comfort.

At least there’s something to compare to when you’ve cried yourself out, you’re back to having a smile on your face and a song in your heart, and you’re fit to go out in public again.


2 thoughts on “Wallowing

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