It felt like a tough weekend. More hard conversations, more tears and more letting things out; and letting them go. The anxiety began to loosen its grip. Writing helps.
Yesterday, I felt really good. I wasn't all that productive. but I felt peaceful and relaxed and so I followed that feeling.
Friends and family have reached out to us and we check in on them too.
This morning was a huge realization.
I was on the treadmill, like I've been trying to do in the mornings, listening to Brene Brown's podcast, Unlocking Us and she was speaking with David Kessler. He's an author, public speaker, and death and grieving expert.
They explained that the reason we're experiencing the emotions we are, is we are collectively grieving for the world we no longer live in. That really hit me.
Furthermore, if any of you have had any counselling due to a loss of any kind (the death of a friend or loved one, the death of a marriage, the loss of a job, etc.), you're recognize the Five Stages of Grief. Kessler has gone a step further and included a sixth stage, "Finding Meaning".
He and Brown spoke about the Parable of the Long Spoons. Basically a man is shown a room full of people and they are all using long spoons to eat. Because they struggle with getting the food to their mouths, they are starving. This is hell. Then the man is shown another room, the people are joyous and it's a celebration. They, too, are using the long spoons, but they are feeding each other. This is heaven.
This was profound for me and it made complete sense.
It's time to feed each other.
I wrote another piece last night.
She is tired
It was the kind of tired that took a pandemic to notice,
That downtrodden, chilled to the bone, walking in the pelting rain, dampness seeping into the soles of your shoes, kind of tired.
It’s been a long, winding journey for her.
She is sick of seeing the meek ignored and mistreated,
She is weary of weeping for the sick and the dying,
She is exhausted from holding up a world that doesn’t deserve it,
She is angry and disappointed,
She is tired.
I can feel her breath, like the morning mist on a lake of glass,
I can feel her fury, like a drum punching through the forest’s silence,
I can feel her sadness, like a mother mourns her unborn,
She is tired.
She is so very tired.
And yet she rises,
Each day she saves us,
Despite our ungratefulness, she forgives.
It’s time to let go.
It’s time to give.
It’s time to be.