The weight of the world is grief now.
The ocean mirrors how I feel. Grey, turbulent, tossed about. The heaviness of another morning of unknowns. Or worse, more bad news. My toddler wakes up with a fever, crying. I press my lips to his forehead and try to still my racing thoughts. What if?
We are living with an engine motor hum of stress running in the background. It’s low level and it’s on repeat, but it’s slowly eroding our energy. It makes it difficult to wake in the morning or know how to make decisions. It’s paralyzing.
What do we do when there’s no routine and the future is a question mark?
Undergirding all the anger and frustration, is a deep sadness.
We carry this grief in our bodies. The dream work projects now put on hold. The list of things you can’t get done. Losing it on your children. The postponed vacations. The tears of missed goodbye’s with friends because you’ve been evacuated from the country you loved. The visa’s some are still waiting for. The adoption papers. The chaotic last minute flights. The canceled fertility treatments. Being separated from your baby in the NICU. Being worried about funding for the ministries you manage. Concerns about the children you care for. Being stranded between the families you love and the countries you serve.
And the anticipated griefs of the things yet to be lost. The unknowns of how long quarantine will last.
Our trauma re-sparked. Our anxieties once managed now resurfacing, old companions of darkness we thought we’d relegated away. Our mental health teetering on an edge we know feels dangerous. As someone who struggles with anxiety, I know how you feel: like something is chasing you down.
We don’t want the dark to swallow us.
In less than a week, we lost almost everything.
My husband’s work slowed when the market crashed, our Airbnb bookings cancelled, the home we bought, the financing may not come through, which means its unclear where we’ll live. We have no long term friends nearby because we’re in transition. Everything we own is in a shipping container we can’t access. I have been under the weather. My 16 month old son had a fever and was crying all day yesterday. I’m afraid. It’s probably not coronavirus the doc tells us (sigh of relief) but still it frightens me to think about.
I’m playing the single mom most days with no playground or outdoor outlets. Almost 2 weeks into my quarantine in Puerto Rico. My nerves are grated. I find myself losing my patience a lot. I feel like a bad mom, not a fun, loving mom.
Mostly because my life’s been hijacked. This isn’t what I signed up for. This isn’t what any of us signed up for.
I know many, many people in worse situations than us. I feel their grief co-mingling with mine.
These are sad times.
We try to numb it out with TV shows and wine, or more pizza, the never ending stream of news in the background. We try to meditate our way out of it. Maybe do enough yoga. These can all be helpful in moderation.
But sometimes what we need is to feel. To cry. To write. To let the storm of unruly emotions, have voice instead of stuffing them away.
[ctt template=”2″ link=”undefined” via=”yes” ]Sometimes we can’t swim above the waves, sometimes we must be submerged, though it feels like drowning, in order to reach the shore. [/ctt]
We must let them roll over us.
I have cried more the past few days than in a while.
Kahlil Gibran says in his book, The Prophet, “Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.”
I pray this is true.
Right now my best self is nowhere to be found. I’m left with myself, perhaps at my worst. Twenty-five percent doesn’t seem enough. And yet somehow, I’m getting through another day.
In society we co-regulate. Which means our nervous systems reacts to other people’s nervous systems. If there is panic, fear, stress, we begin to feel all those things. But if you sit with someone who is calm, reassuring, not panicked you can attune to the vibration they are giving off as well.
We collectively share in each other’s anxieties, joys, griefs. We are connected. This is the discomfort we feel, as the Harvard Business review said the other day.
I don’t have a six step program and I’m not trying to sell you something. I don’t have some magical home workout program, or some positive affirmation that can will this away.
All I can say is I am in the thick of it right there with you. Trying to carry the load I can bear.
I am doing the best I can. I know you are too.
[ctt template=”2″ link=”undefined” via=”yes” ]It’s easy to feel like we’re failing, but there is no metric for loss. [/ctt]
There is no grid for how to navigate this. It’s simply one day, one minute, one second at a time. Finding the breath, holding it, releasing it. (box breathing can help or alternate nostril breathing)
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the Lord’s prayer. Some say it’s the perfect prayer. Especially when we don’t know what to pray…or we can’t. And the line right before, where Jesus says, “For the Father knows the things you need before you ask Him.” (Matthew 6:8)
Even in our weakness, even in our suffering, even in our wordlessness, He knows.
I write this with tears in my eyes.
Because this isn’t something we can control. This thing, this coronavirus has stripped us of that.
[ctt template=”2″ link=”undefined” via=”yes” ]What I know about grief is she doesn’t let go until we face her. [/ctt]
So don’t run from the breaking open. Let the tears come. It’s ok to be sad and angry. Disappointed. You don’t have to be strong. Accept where you are.
[ctt template=”2″ link=”undefined” via=”yes” ]Accept you are still loved, even on your weakest days.[/ctt]
Go to your car and let out a loud scream.
Ask your partner for an hour alone.
Write the griefs out. Put them to paper. Write your truth. Whatever they may be no matter how silly they might feel to someone else. They are yours. I promise, He sees them. Even the smallest of the dashed dreams.
Today I’m really sad about_______.
Let the grief come and wash over you. When the fury passes, you’ll be relieved to know it didn’t overwhelm you. The letting go allowed you to be free.
How are you coping with your grief during coronavirus?
A few resources I’ve found helpful:
Staying out of Trauma Brain & Anxiety during Coronavirus
An article with Scott Shaum interview on Suffering & Healing
NPR article on Grief
Tara Brach Pandemic Resources- Self-compassion
One Minute Pause App (Christian) & Calm Meditation App
My downloadable free self-care plan
Opening up by Writing It Down- How Expressive Writing Improves Health
Some poetry because beauty heals us
Steffany Gretzinger’s worship song Save Me on repeat
Yoga for the Broken Heart
After the crying: Joining TikTok for comic relief (even though I don’t know how to use it yet)
