Lyrical Logic

My local theatre is putting on Dear Evan Hansen. I’d never seen it before, but I knew the story. I was so excited to see it. I had been looking forward to it for weeks. But I had no idea how hard it would hit me at the end of the show.

Before I tell you the story of my night, I need to set the scene. It had been a long week at the office. I’ve been stressed out like crazy about many different things. And I have hit a wall when it comes to my novel. I wish that I could tell you my life was sunshine and rainbows right now, but it’s just not.

Now, I had an extra ticket to the show. I asked a friend to go with me. Now, like most of my friends, this friend is slightly older than my mother. Yeah, that one. The one that gives me all the mommy issues. But she’s a safe human, and we love her. It should also be noted that the season tickets that I use (not mine, but a good friend of mine buys them and always takes me and when she can’t go I get both) happen to be the same night as my therapist. Yep. My real life therapist. I spotted her before the show, called her name, and she came over to say hi. I introduced her to my friend, and we shared a quick hug before she went and rejoined her group. A twist of fate had brought the professional who helped me through four years of hell to the same show on the same night.

I watched the First Act in awe. The story. The characters. How well our local actors always did because they have so much talent. I was loving the story. I was loving the music. It was just amazing. I actually had a few times where I thought I knew someone who would make an amazing Evan Hansen if he had the time to do theatre like he would love to do. Then, the scene happened.

(Spoiler alert) It’s the scene where Evan and Heidi are fighting. After she learns he’s been with Connor’s family almost every night. I start to feel myself tense. A trigger. I tried to disassociate. And a few scenes later, when they’re sitting on the couch, and Heidi starts to sing So Big / So Small and she sings the words “Your mom isn’t going anywhere/Your mom is staying right here,” that the tears started to fall.

The only thought in my head was it was a bad time to have mommy issues. Then I remembered my therapist was in the audience too. She was certainly going to have something to say about it. And then I remember who is sitting next to me.

A woman who has just occupied space while I got comfortable. Who left me crackers and jam on what would have been my anniversary because she knew I was having a hard day. The woman who knows the real life me, who knows my story, and has read my poetry collections. She’s one of those people that is sweet and you just can’t be mad at her. She cares so much and is so genuine and kind that it makes you wonder sometimes if she’s a real person. But I promise, she is.

I managed to get home before I started to sob. Not just cry, a full body sob. My heart felt like it had been cracked wide open and I felt like my entire world was falling around me. Yet I felt safe. I felt seen. I felt…I don’t know how to describe it.

I cried myself to sleep after a few hours of being home. And the next day, thankfully a Saturday, I slept a lot of the day. I took a three hour nap, and I’m not a napper. I woke up, slightly groggy, and still feeling the emotional hangover from last night.

I had a moment in that theatre where I wondered if I’m not too hard on my mother. I wondered if maybe she’s just misunderstood and I’m just a monster who can’t understand her. But then when Heidi sang that song, when those words hit my ears, I knew I wasn’t too hard on her. Because my mother never, ever, would have said those words to me and meant them. And I think that is what broke my heart that night. Not the story, but how I questioned myself and the boundaries I have set with my mother. How I thought, yet again, that maybe I was the problem. And when I realized I wasn’t, I was so upset with myself for falling for it again.

Healing isn’t a linear thing. When I see my therapist on Tuesday we’ll talk about the show for a bit. But I’ll tell her the thing that happened. About the tears. About the feelings. About how I much I wish that I didn’t want a mother to love me. How much I wish she could have just been a decent human and not been awful to me. And I have a feeling that I’ll be a blubbering mess in her office for my appointment. But I know it’s part of the process. I just wish it wasn’t.