Every once in awhile my holding damn breaks and I weep. My chest does that thing it does to hold my heart, and I weep. Like a mess with mascara tracks down my cheeks and my arms wrapped around my core ... I weep.
I feel the privilege of my job in my bones, in my soul ... but every ounce of pain and suffering that we digest has to come out.
We are amazing. Our mind and bodies ability to release through little drops of us rolling out of our eyes. I don't know how I could continue my job if I lost the ability to cry.
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