“What are you doing to cope?” This question was asked today in a small group, and since I spend pretty much every day reflecting on every day, I had a ready answer.
A couple weeks before the start of quarantine, my relationship ended. What would have been our anniversary passed in a weekend, and the summer move-in we anticipated won’t happen. I only mention my break up for additional context. It throws a little extra grief into my emotional landscape and yet another layer of disruption onto what had been my normal routine of significant engagement with another person.
Since the start of March, I’ve been very single and very alone. But I also have what I need, which means I’ve had the privilege of using all the time, the space, and the quiet to go deep with myself. It has become my time, my space, and my quiet. Has there ever been a stranger or more complicated time to live so comfortably by oneself? To feel so removed from others and yet fully present with one’s own grief, worry, pleasure, and joy?
Before optimistic projections of two weeks of self-isolation became months of shelter-in-place measures and a national lock down, I consciously decided to embrace this experience for what it could reveal to me rather than distract myself or attempt to escape from it. (Fortunately, I am of the constitution that enjoys regular retreat and reflection.) Everything has become an opportunity to notice, experiment, and imagine how things could be different in a world that is drastically changed and constantly changing.
On a personal level, this has birthed a growing practice of listening to my body, acknowledging my feelings, and paying attention to what feels good…and not good. Although not causally related, this practice has most definitely been heightened by the fact that two months ago, I started to feel chest tightness, shortness of breath, fatigue, elevated heart rate, and a persistent, deep burning in my lungs.
As I write, I’m conscious of my breath because, most of the time, this still feels not good. But heightened awareness of my body also tells me – with moment to moment clarity – how I can respond to my own bids, take care of myself, and recognize my own needs. Like what to eat (last night, it was a broth with several green things and freezer-burned strawberry ice cream), what to drink, how to move, and where to walk.
As simple as this sounds, this is a practice I’ve had to cultivate, and I recognize it is a foreign experience for many who don’t have the time, space, or luxury to do the same. I don’t take that for granted. In fact, bearing witness to the implications of what that means for us on individual and collective levels is a key part of my process.
I have been paying attention to which interactions – with what and with whom – leave me feeling light, or static, or frazzled and disconnected. Including interactions with myself. It makes me even more curious about how we can connect with each other in authentic ways. I am obsessed with questions around what intimacy, support, and care can look like. What potentials exist in relationship with others? What can be revealed through a different relationship with ourselves?
When you’re alone, with little external responsibilities or pressures to distract and deter you, it becomes very clear that you are – literally – the only one you have to listen to. It can begin to feel like a very alien existence. There is no one else present to sway, coerce, or suggest. There is no one else’s desire.
Each day passes and feels a lot like those before it – largely filled with only my feelings, my needs, and innumerable, little choices. But somehow, they can all feel significant, and that can be a good thing.
I’m realizing that this practice of hearing myself so I can listen to myself is also a process of loving myself so I can trust myself. And show up for myself. This feels like more than coping. It feels like growth. I hope it’s healing. It’s also very confusing because it feels fundamentally selfish. Why does something so tender and delicate feel so selfish?
Tonight, I wanted to write a little bit about how it’s been for me to be alone. Then some sweet flowers beckoned me to tend to them, too, to refresh their water, cut off the mushy parts of stems that started to rot in the previous vase, and give them renewed life in a new space.
After all was said and done, I ended up doing that.