I once went to a group therapy session called FIT (Families in Transition). All strangers going through separation sat around a big table and shared their stories with a mediator. I was doing everything I could to get through the hardship better rather than worse for it. This place was a bit bleak but hey, it was free.
I was to the left of the mediator so I was to go first. As these were strangers, well out of my neighbourhood, I thought no problem- I might as well bare all. I looked around the table and started to tell my war story and cried as I told it.
One always feels their story is the worst. It is the only story you know intimately.
The next person spoke. Something about jail time and custody battles. Next person- ex spouse that is violent and restraining orders. After that person the next said “I haven’t seen my children in 3 years” and the next person- “my former husband would not move out, so I left – I am living on the couch at a friend’s and have no money”.
No one else was crying .
That may have been the last time I cried telling my story.