Hashtag nofilter

“I know that sounds like a cat poster, but it’s true.” –Vitruvius

Since Tuna died, the question “How are you?” has been hard to answer. I’ve considered answering with, “Never been worse. Living my worst nightmare, you?”
If you’re not sure how to answer the question “How are you doing?” when people check in with you during isolation, it’s totally normal for those going through grief and trauma.

My suggestion (since you asked) is to be honest. Don’t say you’re doing great when actually you can’t stand the sound of your cat eating for one second longer. Don’t say you’re fine when really you’re ready to douse the house in bleach because it smells like PEOPLE, your couch is developing permanent butt-indents, and you can only go so far on a stationary bike. If someone checks in and you say all is well, but really you’re having conversations with your dog while watching the Golden Girls (true story), try a more honest answer. Just say it: “My anxiety is through the roof and I need some help with coping right now.”

For me, after Tuna, I started saying “We’re getting by,” or “I’m doing ok,” or “Doing my best.” Those are the family friendly versions of, “I’m living in hell and can barely cope right now.” People don’t want to hear that. Most people don’t know where to put that, it gets awkward, so you water it down.

During these times right here, when we’re contemplating the pros and cons of wearing a fishbowl on our heads to go toilet paper hunting, we might answer the question, “How are you doing?” with the answer, “I’m doing as well as can be expected.” Or, “I think I’m ok, but are you experiencing depression and worry, too?”

Guess what? It’s ok that you’re experiencing that.

If you’re new to grief and trauma (because that’s what the world has been plunged into – – the cold world of drastic, traumatic change), everything you’re feeling is normal. If you’re crying, that’s OK. If you’re acting really weird and loopy, that’s OK. If you’re escaping, that’s OK. If you’re trying to laugh at it all, it’s cool. If you’re over-achieving, that’s fine too. Just be sure to come up for air. Be sure to answer the questions with brutal honesty. Don’t insta-filter your pandemic state. Hashtag no filter that answer: “I’m freaking out, and I need to see your face”, “I want to know what to do when I feel depressed and lonely”… You get the idea.

So this is where I say, “Hang in there!”, which is a watered down version of, “Yeah, this is a really freaking twilight zone state the world is in and I have nothing helpful to say. At all. Hang in there.”

Please talk to your people. Face time. Message. Call. And if you don’t have people, call a church, or look at the Google thingy for a counseling hotline–some are free–just to talk to someone who will listen.

If you’re feeling like hurting yourself, call 1-800-273-8255. Go here if you need to https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/. I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.

Sorry, the world is closed. The whole world is just hanging in there until further notice. People tell me that it gets better, this grief crap. People are nice. I guess I’m not people… I’m telling you that it doesn’t get better, just different. It never goes away–we’ll all be changed by this crisis–but when further notice comes, we’ll get to let go.

Eyes Front, Don’t Trip

My kick-ass friend Anna sends me love notes that say “drink water”, and “take walks by yourself”. You know, self-care reminders. So today I took a walk. We have woods in our backyard, and I decided to take the trails instead of the road.

I came across a softball someone must have dropped. I thought “Oh cool, a new ball for Molly” (my dog). I kicked it a few steps, went to pick it up, and stopped. What if it had traces of Covid-19 on it? Anyway, maybe they’ll come back for it…yeah, I’ll leave it.

The trail led to the baseball fields at a nearby school, and there was a dad there hitting balls with his kids. The first ball I watched him hit came to the fence, and I thought I should probably walk faster since I’m not baseball and knowing me I’d get a concussion trying to catch it if it went over. I kept walking, and his next hit landed over the fence and in the grass next to me. I picked up the ball and threw it back over the fence for him, without a single thought of the virus. I just thought it would be a nice thing to do.

Why did I worry about the virus with the softball, but not when I was helping someone? It explains our hero healthcare workers’ mentality, risking their health each day for the greater good. And we can extend that to the rest of the workers still out there providing “necessary services” for the rest of us.

I kept walking. Then it hit me that I should probably clean that hand first thing when I got home. How sad that I have to think this way. What a freaking twilight zone we’re in. I picked up a dry leaf and crumpled it up in my hand, willing nature and dirt to absorb the virus that was 99.9% NOT on the baseball. Ridiculous. But what did I do when I got home? I washed my stupid hands.

I had a pretty good pace going on my walk. It felt good to get out and move, and I was just looking straight ahead as I walked. At one point I stopped and stood silent, taking in what I missed in movement. Deciding against sitting a while, I kept going. At one point, I looked around into the woods while keeping my pace, and I tripped on a root. I didn’t fall, but I did put my eyes back on the trail and kept them there.

Walking clears my head. I had been thinking about our situation at home–how we would have to really plan and manage well to get through the next couple of months, the uncertainty in everything right now, financial strain, changes springing up daily–when my eyes strayed into the forest, my head turned, and that’s when I tripped. That root sprung right up, like the daily changes, when I wasn’t paying attention to the path in front of me. Had I been present, it wouldn’t have tripped me.

We’re being pummeled with opinions and statistics and facts and warnings and directives and suggestions and articles and press conferences and terrifying news all day every day. Meanwhile, I’m trying to keep these days at home as stress-free as I can for my family. I’m trying to take in the pandemic forest around me while smoothly navigating my own family’s path forward. There is NO WAY I can do both at the same time. If I don’t keep my eyes front while we go through this, and only stop briefly to assess what’s going on in the rest of the woods, I’ll fall flat on my face.

My job–YOUR JOB–is to do just that for yourself and/or your family. Sure, listen to your most trusted news source. Yes, get the updates. And then face forward again. We won’t get through this if we’re all splayed on the forest floor, ankles sprained, waiting for help that isn’t coming. Step over the unexpected roots, and walk yourselves smoothly home. Then (unless you’re among the necessary) stay home, because the right thing to do is help others…and wash your hands.