Someone’s Being Mean to Jean

The thoughts started creeping in two nights ago. I had a dream that I had poop coming out of my mouth. Can you think of a better metaphor for being “full of shit”? This was my sleeping self waging an attack on me. And then my waking self joined in. I judged myself for not exercising well enough with my virtual yoga class and not having the right amount of passion for helping others and in general not doing this pandemic perfectly.

My friend Brett sent along his daily text: “Wellness and sanity check. How ya faring this fine socially isolated Tuesday?”

I answered: “Not so good. Self judgment is on the rise.”

Brett is a psychotherapist and so he responded: “Could it be covering fear, or sadness, or anger at something other than yourself?”

Bingo

Maybe you can tell. Brett isn’t just any therapist. He’s a really good one. I posed his questions to myself. The tears began to fall. Sadness. I had been fighting a bleakness:

There’s no path for me.

I have nothing to look forward to.

Neither of these statements are necessarily true, but they felt true when I wrote them in my journal. 

Me Sad. You Sad?

There is a time to plan, and a time to be resilient. But there is also a time to fall apart and feel. Even from my privileged perch with food on the table and extra canned goods in the cupboard, there is loss:

  • I need a certain amount of physical touch per week to feel balanced and well. That part of my wellness practice is interrupted.
  • I earn a certain amount of monthly income to stay resourced and feel safe. That is also different.
  • I thrive with work that is challenging and meaningful. Events and work trips are postponed or canceled. I feel rudderless.

Me Angry. You Angry?

This morning it started to happen again. I was starting to feel pissed off and was about to turn the rage against myself. Then I heard Brett’s voice in my head:

“Could it be covering fear, or sadness, or anger at something other than yourself?”

Bingo again. Today I am angry. I don’t know what I’m angry at, and I don’t care. I punch my couch over and over. Later I throw a plastic garbage container against a wall. That felt good. 

Stages of Grief

Grief isn’t always about losing a person. It can also be about losing a way of life. Maybe this pandemic won’t be so bad. Maybe there will be a return to an enjoyable new normal. From where I sit today, that is unclear. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross who wrote about the stages of grief might say I’m doing very healthy emotional work. I would concur.

Permission Granted

We all deserve to have a good cry or a good rage about the state of the world. And I’d like to personally give you permission to feel your losses. I have a garbage pail over here that’s very enjoyable to throw. Maybe you have one of your own.