I moved your topic here to the lounge because I felt it made more sense here.

As I said in my private message, I'm really glad and proud of you for taking this step forward and staying with it. Sometimes just getting to the end of the day is a heroic feat.

I know this as a fellow non-neurotypical with depression. Keep fighting that good fight. We're in your corner.

So glad to see you around again,  Carrot, and a beautiful obs as always. I love your descriptions of your sobbing. Belated hugs for your momentary heartaches, if you'd like to accept them.

I'm posting this now, but it actually Sunday before last. I had gone over to visit a friend of mine, a woman who is toward the upper end of middle aged and who was widowed by cancer several years ago. Since then she'd been struggling somewhat financially and with upkeep around the house without her husband there to help, and recently had to take on a second job.

Her birthday had passed a few days earlier so I brought her over some cookies I'd baked at her request, and was prepared to help her with some yardwork. Partway through our visit she received a notification through the mail of a creditor calling in a debt from several years ago that she thought had been resolved, piling on top of her stress.

She got up and started pacing nervously, lamenting the situation and saying that she hates her friends seeing her in a vulnerable state. Her voice had a quiver and her face was fraught with tension and nervousness. I went up to offer her a hug. She signed and began to weep softly. She leaned over into me, her hands up and covering her face, bent into my neck with my chin nuzzled into the top of her head.

Her crying was softer than I expected it to be, with mostly quiet sobs that were just a little bit more than whispers, but not quiet fully voiced either, punctuated by gentle, breathy gasps.

She whimpered "I'm sorry..." to me, still hiding her face.

"Why?" I said.

"Because I hate for people to see me cry."

"Aww, you're fine, hun. It's perfectly okay, I've got you," I reassured her.

She looked up at me for a moment. Her eyes were ringed with wetness all around but her tears didn't seem to be running down her cheeks. She was apparently a dry cryer, as some people tend to be.

I put my hand on the back of her head and pulled it back down into the crook of my neck, encouraging her this time to put her arms around me and return the hug. She held gently onto me and sobbed softly again, as I felt her belly bouncing against mine in a rolling, up and down motion wi

It was nice that your colleague was there to comfort you. Do you find yourself feeling like crying often at work?

These are my most recent obs, from this Saturday and Sunday.

The first happened on Saturday evening when I was visiting my friend to help organize at her woodshop. We were seated at a table together, her working on a letter and me planning a pattern on some scrap planking. We weren't talking much, just busying ourselves in our work, when she said "can I ask you something?" and when I looked over her eyes were glistening.

This, of course, snapped me right to attention and I asked her what was wrong. She told me she was struggling to write a letter to her sister in rehab, and was worried, both about her and about not being able to convey what she needed to.

"I love her so much," she said, her eyes starting to flow. I put my hand on her upper back and rubbed gently in circles. "Well, that might be a good opening right there," I said back. I didn't want to interrupt her train of thought, so I didn't say much else, but just sat next to her and watched her write. She has very wet eyes when she becomes emotional. They tend to gleam and fill with pools of tears, so it's hard for her to hide it.

She seemed relieved after she finished writing. She never went beyond some very wet eyes and a streak or two on her cheeks, but it seemed a weight of her shoulders after she was done with the letter. She told me afterwards, "you always know how to be here at the right times."

The second one came Sunday afternoon. I texted a friend of mine, an older woman, who I knew was going through some personal and financial difficulties, and had been pretty quiet lately. She told me was struggling and I asked if I could drop in to visit her for a bit after work.

She admittedly doesn't enjoy crying, but sometimes can't help herself. We hugged, and sat down in chairs in her living room as she explained the nature of her current crisis, and the general feeling of betrayal and condescension she'd experienced from some other "friends."

All the while, she kept pausing from time to time to