heavy

The worry a pandemic brings is odd. It’s the kind of worry that feels invasive, since it’s not confined neatly to one section of your time or one group of your people. There’s this collective sense of dread.

I think that’s been one of the weirdest things about this season for me. As a person prone to worry - who enters most normal situations with a higher-than-average amount of anticipation and stress - it’s a new experience to see so many other people around me at this heightened level of stress, too.

This is also a kind of stress people aren’t used to. It’s a fear of something pervasive, global, and technically invisible. We feel unsettled because every piece of our world is shaken by this. I read an article in the Harvard Business Review last year that explained it well. In it, journalist Scott Berinato learns from grief expert David Kessler about the unique kind of stress and grief a virus brings. “Our primitive mind knows something bad is happening, but we can’t see it. This breaks our sense of safety… I don’t think we’ve collectively lost our sense of general safety like this.”

People around me are starting to experience a phenomena I’ve understood my whole life but just now have words for. “Anticipatory grief,” as Kessler explains, is this general worry about the storm coming, whatever that may be. Anticipatory grief is actually anxiety which invites our imaginations into worst-case scenarios. I’ve joked with friends that my mind is a Pulitzer-Prize-Winning author of worst-case-scenarios. (I’m sure anyone who knows and loves my fellow Enneagram 6s will understand). I’ve come to see both the value and the baggage in this involuntary habit. The many possibilities I’ve worked through in my head give me the chance to prepare and protect myself and others, and helps me see things that others may have missed. It’s also exhausting and a lot to carry.

I guess what I’m trying to say to those of you for whom this weight feels new, I see you and I understand. It’s overwhelming to worry about the world on top of your own personal problems. It’s scary when your mind is moving faster than you’re used to and it’s throwing scary possibilities at you that you’d never considered. It’s confusing when you feel like your worries and grief are heavier than they should be, especially when you compare it to others who you feel “have it worse.”

I’ll offer these words from Kessler. “We tell ourselves things like, I feel sad, but I shouldn’t feel that; other people have it worse. We can — we should — stop at the first feeling. I feel sad. Let me go for five minutes to feel sad. Your work is to feel your sadness and fear and anger whether or not someone else is feeling something.”

We are allowed to have feelings about our feelings, and we also have to trust that our bodies are producing these feelings for a reason. Honor the ways your brain is trying to protect you, even when the delivery isn’t perfect. Take a moment to breathe and find constants in the midst of this season where nothing is guaranteed. Let hope and grace find you when you don’t have the energy to search for them. Ask for help.

We can be imperfect vessels that carry a mixture of hope and fear, and we can do that better together.