One month. Day 31 of shutdown.
And I’m in a funk. Not struggling, necessarily. Just in a funk.
It’s hard to believe that it’s been a month, yet in another way it seems a lifetime ago, that day when the school shutdown seemed madness in the morning and became grim reality by evening. That day, I lost seventy-five percent of my income, and became one of the earlier economic victims of the US shutdown.
I struggled hard, grappling with the unreal reality, trying to sort through the torrent of information and misinformation, attempting to be strong and adaptable. I tried. Wanting to be strong, wanting to be okay, wanting to not be a burden.
But I wasn’t strong, wasn’t coping well, wasn’t okay, and eventually I was forced to admit that. To admit that I need help, and hugs, and children’s chatter, and a listening ear. To admit that, in fact, I am more afraid of being alone than I am of dying.
And that was only one of the uncomfortable discoveries I made about myself during this month of crisis.
I realized that a large part of my identity was connected to my work. Without work, I am not sure who I am.
I discovered a bunch of unhealed places in my heart, places that hurt in outsize proportion when triggered.
Every poor habit, every unhealthy coping method, every dysfunctional belief, every weakness and fault, came up in sharp relief. I discovered just how weak and needy I really am.
But that’s not all.
I also discovered that I am more adaptable than I had given myself credit for.
That my habit of openly confessing struggles and writing with raw honesty is encouraging more people than I knew.
That I have the most generous friends.
That children light up when I walk into a room.
That I have built trust and relationship with some truly awesome people.
That the long, slow, hard work of rebuilding family relationships is beginning to bear fruit.
That I am not too proud to do odd jobs, and that I have a large variety of marketable skills.
That I have built a much healthier relationship with food than I used to have (even though I struggle to eat when stressed).
That the shin splints I’ve been painfully pushing through have finally healed and running is no longer restricted by leg pain. (By the way, these shoes get a LOT of the credit for that healing. Brooks brand running shoes are the best I’ve ever had, and well worth the money.)
Through all this, there is one common concept that I kept seeing: You have to start where you are. And where you are is the consequence (the reaping) of the choices you have been consistently making.
As such, crisis exposes both weakness and strength. Reveals the things that are working and the things that aren’t.
And God is gracious. I don’t need to wait until the crisis is over to begin again. Every morning, I get to begin again. Every day, I get to make more choices. To replace poor habits with better ones, to seek help, to accept love and grace and belonging, and continue to build for the future.
And tonight, a good friend shared this video. I cried all the way through, and took a few more steps toward healing, and toward a better future, from right here where I am right now.