What do we do when we feel it is all getting to us? When the outrage and depression over the killing of George Floyd and so many other African-Americans by police, combines with the sadness and anger over the rising numbers of those sick and dying from the coronavirus, combines with the actions by DT to cut off the information from reaching us that we need to protect ourselves? And all this is augmented by anxiety over our economic situation or uncertainty over the future and, of course, fear of getting sick?
My mind went through a change over the past weekend. Every time we leave home to go to a public, indoor location⎼ shop for food, get our car fixed, what used to be normal activities⎼ a new waiting period can begin. Since the incubation period for the virus can be two weeks, if we do this more than once during that time, we never stop being on edge, monitoring for symptoms. A chest pain, a cough, a tickle in the throat can cause us to isolate ourselves further in worry.
I turned on the tv and there was an ad for a local Public Television program, Behind the Woman, which shared personal stories of women leaders from diverse backgrounds. In this time of different pandemics, those of racism, DT, and the coronavirus, the program reminded me of what a sense of community can be like, with shared concerns and a demand for change.
Then I heard news about protests over the police killing of George Floyd, in Portland, Oregon, being met by militarized Federal agents sent there by DT. These camouflage-wearing agents have been stomping on the people’s right to protest and on the legitimate local authorities and the rule of law, creating chaos to serve DT’s own selfish political purposes. And on Sunday, they were met by a wall of Moms chanting “Moms are here, Feds stay clear.” I felt a silly sort of joy, a shared interest and feeling, with these women, and with these protestors. Until I heard about the teargas and arrests and the joy was replaced with outrage and fear.
Hearing about the protests, I somehow felt less alone. When we hear about other people in pain, we want to do something to end that suffering. We want to help. Even babies, when they hear other babies crying, join in. And when we hear about people taking action, we can feel more powerful ourselves and ready to act.
But due to a trauma, life necessity, or other reasons, we might hide our empathic response to pain, but it sits there inside us, nonetheless. All of us, at times, need a place to hide. Even without major trauma, we might build an internal wall against perceiving what we feel and identify more with the wall then a sense of shared humanity. We feel the wall is an inherent element of our self. Then anyone who calls for taking down the wall is more a threat than those who caused the pain we initially experienced or witnessed. Or we recognize the pain only of those we let inside our wall, but others, we ignore.
The coronavirus makes this worse. It would be so much easier for us all if we could reach out and speak honestly about what is going on inside and outside of us. But there is so much disruption right now, so much accumulated pain and worry, that anyone’s sense of who they are could be incredibly stressed. How can we risk going beyond the surface and sharing our deepest feelings, if we feel identified with a job, as so many of us do, and we’ve lost it? Or identified with others we can no longer touch? To talk honestly, we can feel like we’re burdening others or complaining.
But during such confusing and threatening times is exactly when we need to have real discussions, feel touched, feel kindness towards others. It can be such a relief. Wearing a mask, social distancing, is a wall of its own. We don’t need to add even more layers to it.
If we allow ourselves to take moments when we’re alone to focus within, maybe look at something comforting. Or we just listen to the bird calls or the wind or other calming sounds around us. Or we close our eyes and notice what we feel, in our shoulders or belly, or notice the thoughts running through us. And then we feel how, as we breathe out, our bodies can let go, settle down, relax. We feel our selves and the world more directly. We feel safe in that situation but no wall.
And we let ourselves imagine a friend, relative, or teacher. We imagine what they might be feeling due to the different pandemics. We imagine that what we feel, they might also feel.
And, if we trust this person and look honestly at who they are, we might imagine honestly talking with them, in a safe situation, about how we are. Or we can imagine what a good conversation would be like or one we actually had with this person. And we play it out in our mind and notice what made it so good, so we can make such conversation possible again.
We imagine a kind action we might take. Sometimes empathy is too much, but not kindness. The kindness and care we give others, we carry inside ourselves. Or we can imagine taking an action ourselves or joining with others to end an injustice, and we feel less isolated.
If we’re a parent or teacher, we are obviously concerned about our children. We imagine sitting with them, watching, listening, and asking how they’re feeling. Suggesting safe ways they can meet with or help friends, neighbors and classmates. Sharing how the situation is difficult for everyone. And by taking care of ourselves, we also take care of them.
Then we rest for a moment in feeling this camaraderie, this community. And we open our eyes if they were closed, hopefully able to think more clearly, feeling less alone, and then we do it, we talk, we act.
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Photo by frankie cordoba on Unsplash
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