What is the state of the world doing to us?
collective trauma (and hopeful healing)
It’s a bit past noon, and I’ve already had two hard conversations.
One with a friend who’s in a toxic work environment and is on the brink of losing it (but can’t quit for obvious reasons).
The other is in a living situation in which her two roommates (who both work in the service industry) are unable to pay their portion of the rent. And so she’s been made responsible for covering their costs going forward (and has no idea how she’s going to do it).
Flash forward to me sitting across from my dad as he tries to make lighthearted conversation. I stare at him, only able to think of the things about him that frustrate me. I think about making a comment that would put him on edge. But instead, I remain silent. And eventually, I tell him I’m not in a talkative mood.
I feel a cloud fall over me. A cloud that doesn’t have much to do with my personal situation. I am one of the lucky ones — I have a job, a stable living situation, and more than enough food.
It’s the reminder that we’re still living through a pandemic that beyond killing hundreds of thousands of people, has left many in dire situations.
I volunteer with Unemployed Workers United to share resources with people struggling financially. I talk with a mother who’s planning on living out of her car with her son at the end of the month. I text with a man who’s struggling to feed his family. I interact with numerous others on the brink of financial collapse, completely at a loss as to what to do next.
It’s a hard time to be alive.
We’re experiencing a collective trauma on a daily basis while continuing to downplay or ignore it, because hey, life must go on, right? Coping with trauma and staying productive don’t exactly go hand-in-hand.
I see a picture of the French Quarter in New Orleans packed with maskless tourist and am filled with horror. “At what point will seeing a group of people not freak me out?” I wonder.
I have COVID-related dreams: of being in a crowd without a mask, of testing positive, of accidentally giving it to someone else.
My point here is that the impact of all of this has obviously entered my psyche in a not-so-subtle way.
I’ve been wavering between depression and anxiety for a week now, struggling to put my finger on what exactly is causing my distress.
And then I remember that beyond coping with a pandemic and the mess of dealing with it, we had a mob of white supremacists try to overthrow our country just a month ago (the impeachment trial is a friendly reminder).
So much is happening that I fail to focus on any one thing. And so it becomes easy to be dismiss my emotions as ridiculous, random, inconvenient. To insist on treating life like it’s all normal, cool, FINE.
But at my core, I’m scared. I’m scared for what is and what’s to come. For how this country is going to continue to cope with the turmoil that will be with us in some capacity for years to come.
I think of my niece who recently told me she doesn’t trust the vaccine. And the almost half of Americans who agree with her.
I search for hope within myself, because I know it’s there somewhere. Mostly because of the strong individuals I look to for guidance and inspiration. Such as AOC, Amanda Gorman, my co-members of the Working Families Party or the numerous figures posting on IG reminding us that life is hard right now and giving us permission to feel it, such as brittany packnett cunningham, who recently posted this image with a caption about her ongoing insomnia:
I’m reminded of a quote by Amanda Gorman in her interview with Michelle Obama in Time Magazine:
“Optimism shouldn’t be seen as opposed to pessimism, but in conversation with it. Your optimism will never be as powerful as it is in that exact moment when you want to give it up. The way we can all be hopeful is to not negate the feelings of fear or doubt, but to ask: What led to this darkness? And what can lead us out of the shadows?”
I’m reminded of the numerous disenfranchised, oppressed, and marginalized groups who have persevered for centuries despite the odds and system stacked against them.
I’m reminded that hope is not a product of delusion but a belief in healing, progress, and strength grounded in reality.
And I’m also tired. Exhausted. Worn-down by the past year, by the past 4 years. And I remind myself I can admit this without giving up, stopping trying, or simply “pushing through.”
I can choose to rest and take action. To be okay with not being okay. To believe in something better while grappling with the mess of today.
And for the umpteenth time, I’m reminded why community is so freaking important. Why we’re not meant to do this alone. Why we need each other, now more than ever.
If there’s anything I truly hope for in 2021 and beyond, it’s for Americans to develop a more community-minded mindset. Because with the current state of things, we need it now more than ever. Whether it’s in the form of mutual aid, donating & volunteering, support groups, checking in on neighbors… it’s the only way I see us getting through all of this without completely falling apart and losing our way.
Here are a few resources that are far from robust but a place to start if you’re looking for ways to engage your community and take care of yourself:
- To find a Mutual Aid Group in your area: https://www.mutualaidhub.org/
- A list of online support groups: https://www.self.com/story/online-support-groups
- A free app I’ve found useful for grounding, depression and anxiety: https://insighttimer.com/
I don’t know who needs to hear this right now, but it’s okay if you’re not okay. I’m not okay… and I’m learning how to use that as fuel to take action, not just for myself but for others. Because even when we all feel separate, disconnected, isolated, we’re still in this together. And that’s an anchor I’ll hold onto like my life depends on it. Because I think maybe it does...
Sometimes words help, sometimes they don’t. I’ve got more words if you’re interested.
