Pandemic and coping — Thoughts on Healing

In early 2020 Covid-19 crashed upon the shores of our known world like a tidal wave, sweeping away much of what we took for granted: daily routines, the freedom to move about in our community, spontaneous social interactions, arts and entertainment, travel plans, the ability to gather with those we love in times of celebration and sorrow. Gone in an instant. And even as we struggled to adjust, COVID continued to overwhelm us with wave after wave of change and loss.

For over a year, we have been living with loss -- globally, nationally, individually, as families and communities. Even if we have not personally experienced the death of family or friends due to the virus, we have all felt its far-reaching impact on our daily lives. And, for the most part, we have had to cope with massive change and loss while being isolated from our usual forms of support and basic coping activities.

Now we are emerging from that isolation, from our compressed lives limited by the imposed structures and personal habits that kept us safe — transitioning from one unknown world into yet another unknown world. The long early months of living under COVID’s constant threat were full of confusion and uncertainty, but so are these months of surfacing from that threat.

We are once again in transition as vaccination brings new possibilities, new dilemmas. Our world is not magically safe, nor anywhere near normal, but we are beginning to have more choices as each of us works out what feels safe, responsible, and possible as we emerge from prolonged isolation.

It is natural that this time of transition brings both relief and anxiety. For over a year we have been living under COVID's threat, our psyches focused on survival. Uncoiling from our tightly-wound protective stance can be unnerving and confusing, no matter how long we have waited for the chance to do so.

So here we are, emerging from our shelters, looking for the path forward. The path through loss in part is so confusing because the arrows point in both directions: Backward and Forward, Past and Future. Healthy grief demands that we face both directions. We must look Backward to acknowledge what is gone and to draw upon what endures, in order to move Forward with rebuilding our new world. Right now many of us are at that crossroads, the sign pointing in both directions. And it can be pretty confusing.

The hard truth is that we can’t go back to our Old Normal, only forward into yet another New Normal. Anyone familiar with grief knows the struggle of yearning for the Old Normal while having to rebuild — arduously and under protest — a New Normal. As you face this changed world with its challenging array of choices and decisions, you may find yourself asking: “What IS this New Normal? What is MY New Normal?”.

And you may be surprised to find yourself asking: “Who am I?”. Because it is not only the world around us that is forever changed, but the world within us. Every great loss changes us. The tornado hits from out of nowhere and shatters us, sweeps big parts of us away. AND it leaves something in its wake— the pieces from which we rebuild.

Writer Rachel Naomi Remen says: “Every great loss demands that we choose life again. We need to grieve in order to do this…Grieving allows us to heal, to remember with love rather than pain. It is a sorting process. One by one you let go of the things that are gone and you mourn for them. One by one you take hold of the things that have become a part of who you are and build again.”

As you rebuild from your own personal losses, as you begin to re-engage in life after a year of pronounced social disengagement, as you ask “Who am I?”, you may find it helpful to reflect on what is lost, what endures, what is still possible. Perhaps these questions will help you, as Rachel describes, to take hold of the things that have become a part of who you are and build again:

What have I lost during the pandemic?

What have I NOT lost? What endures?

What have I found?

What have I done that I didn’t know I could do?

What if anything, has grown from my experience of loss?

Despite all that is lost, what is still possible?

What is important to me now? What is no longer important?

What am I grateful for in this moment?

Because I am a grief counselor, I know the power of the human spirit to rebuild from devastation. I trust that process, for you and for myself, as we emerge from one strange time into another. My wish for you is that in moments of overwhelm or struggle, you may remember what is still possible. In the words of Emily Dickinson:

I dwell in Possibility

Read the full poem:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/52197/i-dwell-in-possibility-466

Photo Credit: Maria Krasnova on Unsplash

Winter solstice — the darkest day of the year, when night comes early and seems here to stay. There are times when the cold darkness finds its way through our protective barriers, seeping through windows and jackets right into our bones. Sometimes, right into our spirits.

Like grief at this time of year, darkness sometimes threatens to overwhelm us, blanketing the light of day. Anyone familiar with deep loss knows the blackness of the longest nights, when pain seems endless and unbearable, penetrating to our marrow no matter what we do to keep it at bay. Our sources of light and warmth seem lost to us, or impossibly far away.

Perhaps you are experiencing some of this now, as the surging pandemic and deepening winter make it even more challenging to keep flagging spirits warm. You may be increasingly isolated from family and friends in a season when you normally gather together. You may be forced by the cold short days to curtail already-limited activities that have been sustaining body, mind and spirit. You may feel tired and sluggish, everything an effort, with little motivation to continue rebuilding your shattered world. You may feel fear or despair that darkness is all there is.

In such moments, it may be helpful to remember and affirm that this darkest night of the year also marks the turning toward increasing light. From here, the days grow longer. We are moving back toward the sun. What a paradox, that even as we move into the coldest time of the year, we are moving toward the warmth of spring and summer. We still have to get through winter, but we are already on our way.

As a grief counselor, I know that this is also true for the longest nights of loss. Just like the earth on its ancient cycle of return, we naturally move through the blinding darkness of pain into the illuminating light of possibility. Over and over I have witnessed this: allowing ourselves to grieve, to truly experience the “winter of the soul” instead of trying to avoid it or fix it, is the turning point that keeps us moving toward greater light and warmth.

As a grief counselor, I also know that it is a very difficult, sometimes unbearable process. That when you are in the midst of your darkest night, it is impossible to believe there will ever be light. That when you feel stuck, it is hard to trust you are actually moving, much less moving forward. That when you are lost, it seems overwhelming to take a step in any direction.

In such moments, remember the Winter Solstice. Just as, on the darkest night of the year, powerful natural forces are moving the earth toward greater light, your darkest grief is a powerful natural force moving you toward the light of healing. In the words of poet Jan Richardson:

This is the night
when you can trust
that any direction
you go,
you will be walking
toward the dawn.

May your dark night be lit with stars of love, hope, and peace — illumination for your journey through whatever winter is upon you.

Photo Credit: Stefano Intintoli on Unsplash

Blessing for the Longest Night, excerpt
© Jan Richardson, from The Cure for Sorrow: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief janrichardson.com

Read the full poem: http://adventdoor.com/2011/12/19/winter-solstice-blessing-for-the-longest-night/