They come violently

The tears do.

There's no warning when they might come, but they come and I'm wracked, brought to my knees, curled up. Sometimes my mouth opens and nothing comes out. Sometimes the howl of pain. I try to stop it. I must stop crying because I can cry myself into exhaustion. And that's not a good feeling.

Tonight they came because of memories of growing up alone.

In a cold and unforgiving orphanage.

The tears brought accusations: 'This is why I can't be a good mother to my own children", 'This is why I can't be a good wife to my husband", "This is why, I can't be a good person"....

and the questions: ' Why does it have to be this hard to fight to learn to be good?' 'Why is it so hard to force myself to change?'

It wrenches.

...and then the force of the tears die a little

I can breathe

Little more sobs

...then the sigh.

Not a sigh of relief or one of those sweet sighs you get. Just a sigh.

I'm ok now and tomorrow I"ll try being a better wife and mother and person.

Maybe God will meet me.

He promised to.