Sometimes I cry in public. As strange as it may sound the most private place I occupy is the bus. This is the only time I’m alone with myself long enough to think about anything truly personal.

At my job, I’m surrounded by people I enjoy, doing work I’m good at, that is appreciated. Best of all I’m busy. I experience flow. Life outside the office barely creeps into my periphery. I’m blissfully distracted.

At home, I’m busy being a mommy. Mommies have to be focused. We don’t generally have time to do silly things like feel sorry for ourselves or miss things or stop and become immersed in sorrow or worse, self pity.

Mommies are strong, cheerful, stable, reliable kid wrangling Amazon warriors full of kisses for booboos, positive reinforcement, and gentle direction. At least the best ones. We can’t just sit down and start weeping out of the blue in front of our little people without creating turbulent waves of psychic disturbances through the household.

Even if we could, where would we find the time?

But it’s in there. The, tension, the loneliness, the guilt that comes with being a single parent. The longing to crumple and be coddled by someone else for a change. Memories of being loved and in love with the father of your child. Regret.

Sometimes, I know exactly where it’s coming from. A meaningful song, a stupid text. Other times, I’m perfectly happy, but I look over and see one person loving another and its like something cracks and the dam breaks. Saline rolls out and down my face and all I can do is just turn my head and hope no one notices the wacko crying into her window on public transportation.

Pray no one asks, “Are you OK?”.

I’m fine, thanks for asking. It’s a life ache, I just need to shake it off. It will pass. It always does…