I’m emotionally constipated. There are too many feelings attempting to traverse the narrow passageway between my head and my heart. Like congested traffic squeezing into a bottlenecked lane closure, my emotions are in rush-hour gridlock with nowhere else to turn. All I can do is sit there waiting for the blockage to pass. I try consuming extra fiber, dark chocolate with almonds. I try adding fluids, crying into an old T-shirt. I try all of the destressing techniques I can think of: meditation, exercise, playing with a hapless puppy; still, I wait. I sift through one emotion at a time. The thought of my daughter moving into a house with no furniture in it reminds me of when I lost my apartment during the recession and had to clear out all of my stuff a week before I departed because that was when I was able to procure the help to move it to another location. Due to decades of undiagnosed ADHD and addiction, my past is littered with painful events that wash into the present unexpectedly and unbidden. They mingle among the joy and gratitude and cause a cluster funk of congestion in my chest and throat. Heartbreak happens, but this too shall pass eventually.