spilled milk… or water

figurative language is not my strong suit. now, i can read, write, and otherwise comprehend it well, but i haven’t always been able to. i always struggled particularly with popular idioms that had no real significance.

for example, i grew up with one of pretty much everything: mom, dad, sister, brother, cat, and dog. my parents would always talk about my sister and i fighting like cats and dogs, and i was confused because… my pets hadn’t fought a day in their lives. come to find out, it was just an expression and i was just autistic. 

i also never understood the “don’t cry over spilled milk” sentiment.

last night, i sat in the cafeteria, playing a video game. granted, it was a humiliating one because it was made for literal children, which led a few of my friends to be very concerned about my mental well-being (and rightfully so). two friends sat down while questioning my life choices (i don’t blame them), and right in the middle of the cafeteria at an underwhelming 8:45 at night, i started sobbing. not for no reason, there were circumstances, but there didn’t appear to be. 

my two friends tried to console me, but nothing helped. i sat there playing my game for an hour longer, trying to distract myself from what was going on in my crumbling life. to no avail. and so, i spent the rest of the night after curfew… still crying. it seems i’ve been doing a lot of that lately; final exams are tough, as well as settling with the realization that our seniors are leaving. i’m not sure if anyone feels this as deeply as i do, but i’m not ready for the beginning of next year without the people who are closest to me. 

this morning, i woke up early. i snoozed my alarm for 10 minutes, then forced myself out of bed to take a shower and do my makeup. i was doing okay, until the realization of last night set in. i decided i had spent too much time on my makeup to be crying it off so early in the morning, and i went on with my day. i walked to first block.

i could feel a familiar throbbing in my forehead, that i quickly reached for a tylenol to subdue. i opened my water bottle, and as i reached for my bag, promptly knocked over the open water bottle. 

to put it simply, that was the last straw. that was the morning equivalent of dropping your keys in front of your door, of getting all the way home before realizing they got your order wrong, of going to the pool and realizing you didn’t bring a towel. 

i started sobbing in the middle of the ji hallway, which was not my proudest moment. river and gracie helped me soak everything up with mediocre paper towels from the bathroom, all while telling me it was okay and that it was just water. i thought back to when my mom told me “don’t cry over spilled milk,” as a metaphor, and i always thought it was stupid. again, the figurative language thing, as well as not knowing what spilled milk was actually a metaphor of.

i felt the dampness of the wooden boards, and i finally understood. you CAN cry over spilled milk. because it’s not just milk: it’s your scratched floor, the glass that just broke, the money you spent on those things. everything leads up to a tiny moment that can send you spiraling. don’t overwork yourself. allow yourself to be as graceful with your mistakes as you are with others. and remember that what’s done is done.

Author: Sara Hebert

welcome :) my name is sara, and i hope you enjoy reading along with me in this little corner of the internet.