I felt myself deflating, like a leftover balloon from a party. All the celebration was gone and I watched myself aimlessly floating above my own life. My motivation, my joy, my contentment, all languishing in a state of malaise. I ate too much, drank too often, and avoided self care. I nestled into the coziness of the mundane, the softness of the couch and the nook of my lover’s arm with equal appreciation and aversion. There was just so much of it. I savored and got lost in it, then resented it for being so constant. And because I knew this wasn’t normal for me, I checked myself often, my words, my actions with careful attunement. It didn’t mean I wasn’t occasionally careless or moody, it just meant I paid attention and tried to be accountable. I was fine one minute and couldn’t bear it the next.
This couldn’t possibly be my life.
The pandemic continues to rear its ugly head with its emotional tightrope, the hope of a vaccine, the fear of contracting a stronger strain of this mysterious plague, and the defeating milestone of 500,000 casualties and counting. We’re experiencing PTSD from this insidious virus that relentlessly weaves between our semblance of normal, our need to be safe and our desire to connect. Adding complexities to an already simmering pot of angst, we are a nation in healing, recovering from inadequate, morally vacant leadership and a cruel, inequitable racial climate, one that won’t see resolution anytime soon. Among the layered nuances lies frustration at the selfishness and single-mindedness of fellow travelers and we find ourselves with nowhere to put these intense emotions because we can’t even identify most of them. We are solemn and weary.
This is a resurgence, after thinking I was getting used to it all and a new experience to be so at conflict with myself this often. I am usually grounded, self aware and don’t typically respond to life’s circumstances in kind, but rather proactively by surrendering daily to gratitude and acceptance. This is different. This has given my mind too much space for ruminating and with my illness always shadowing me, has pronounced my thoughts of mortality. It has left me feeling raw and unmoored. This is hard. It is within the collective voices and vulnerable conversations among my friends and loved ones that I hear this sentiment echoed and feel compelled to share my process. We are all going through this on some level in unique ways. Even the seemingly unaffected have been affected. That in itself is reassuring, comforting and disconcerting at the same time. We are together. And alone. This is temporary, yet there is no end in sight. This will pass, yet it will not leave us unscathed. It has been our evolution and that always requires upheaval, a transformation from who we were to who we are becoming.
Now I’m allowing myself to feel my way through this. Not because I’m so evolved or even always want to, but here it is, the option in front of me. So I’m honoring it. With intent and practice, I have spent entire days connected only to my feelings, not trying to shoo them, distract them or wish them away. They are mine, however unpleasant, and for now, they are the gateway to whatever takeaway I glean from this. When I am deeply rooted in my sadness, or need for solitude, my first inclination is to apologize for it, as though it’s unacceptable behavior, but my next truer response is to own it and acknowledge that I need to be in that space so I will know it’s trying to share with me. It is often the unwanted, uninvited and uncomfortable emotions that reveal the most about who we are. They deserve our grace and attention. Maybe we don’t need to fear the sorrow or the trauma, perhaps we can create room for it to give us tools, broader coping skills, the kind we need because life is a shitshow sometimes.
I believe most of us are doing our best right now, and that might look subpar on any given day, which is also entirely okay. We might be phoning it in, or only taking baby steps, but we’re showing up in life, attempting to make sense of something senseless.
Perhaps not all journeys have to shower us with beautiful scenery to be meaningful. Sometimes the landscape can punish while the lesson calls us home, to ourselves, with all our virtues, fragility and resilience. Silence can invite us to a place of introspection that offers healing. Grieving with a nation that shares our suffering can enrobe us in compassion. Leaning into unfamiliar feelings can make us malleable to positive change. Beyond the overwhelm and chaos, truth unfolds and we can unearth our higher, best self. We can thrive.