Accept Reality
MEDICAL AND MENTAL HEALTH UPDATE
OK, team. It’s time for a pep talk.
If you’re already feeling perky, congratulations.
But if you’re anything like me, you need to hit CONTROL-ALT-DELETE on this week to fully relax into the holiday weekend.
And at the risk of inviting my pal Debbie Downer into your Friday night barbecue, I’d like to revisit the fun topic of GRIEF. (My kids will attest that I have a knack for throwing conversational grenades into upbeat family moments: “MOM!! Did you have to say DIARRHEA at dinner???”)
As you recall, there are SIX STAGES OF GRIEF. And as you may or may not be aware, we are ALL grieving in one way or another right now. (If you feel that you HAVEN’T lost something, someone, or some part of your life during the pandemic, kindly let me know what you are smoking.)
I myself surfed through a few of these stages—all in the past week. The good news is that I landed on “acceptance” yesterday, and I hope to hang here through the weekend and beyond. But to get here I dabbled in denial on Monday, cruised into anger on Tuesday, flirted with depression Wednesday, and finally parked myself in acceptance yesterday around noon.
Monday’s denial looked like this: a dysfunctional thought bubble over my head read “Having very little downtime, no routine, and a weird sleep schedule for the past three-plus months isn’t really affecting me! I’m good!!”
WRONG.
Tuesday I woke up hot and bothered, pissed off at everything. From people not wearing masks to my dental floss gone missing—ARGH!!! Everything felt annoying and hard. RAGE. Why aren’t people taking the pandemic seriously—and why are my eyebrows so asymmetric??? JEEZ!!!
Wednesday ushered in an anger hangover. Tired. Blue. Reading the news, seeing an uptick in COVID cases in my patients, and sensing a lack of vigilance with precautions in my own community made me feel hopeless and sad. Amazon must have read my mind because an ad popped up on my feed for a t-shirt that read: “I LIKE COFFEE AND MAYBE THREE PEOPLE.” I purchased it immediately.
Then yesterday I woke up with an unexpected calm. Perhaps because my t-shirt and dental floss had shipped out from the Amazon warehouse—but perhaps like all of us, we don’t always have control over what stage of grief we float into.
Today I accept these truths, and I hope you will join me:
We can’t control the uncontrollable. We can’t control other people, their beliefs, and their behaviors. For example, I cannot force someone to believe that coronavirus applies to them or that their behaviors affect others.
We CAN, however, try to regulate our emotions and control our responses to them. Instead of bathing in anger (which can indeed anchor pain and taste delicious in the moment), we can instead breathe, sleep, take breaks, create routines in chaos, take care of ourselves, and try to lead by example.
THE PANDEMIC IS BRUTAL for everyone. Even if you are lucky enough to be exercising daily, bonding with family, and growing your own vegetables, let’s face it: this is awful. Own it. Name it. Accept it.
Remember that change happens only when we face unpleasant truths about ourselves and the world around us—and then we do something about it. We need more listening, learning, and following facts and less shouting, preaching, and judging ourselves and others. We can all do better, including myself. And it starts with honest straight-talk with ourselves.
Today I also encourage you to NAME your current stage of grief—because you are IN ONE right now whether you like it or not—and accept it. Write me back here with the stage you are in!
And then this weekend remember to be safe, take the HARD RIGHT over the EASY wrong, and take care of yourself. I am today, and it feels great.
My favorite stage of grief is, naturally, the sixth: finding meaning. For an example of turning HELPLESSNESS into HOPE, enjoy Hamilton’s cast here: https://twitter.com/jimmyfallon/status/1277273293909868545?s=20. This song—and particularly the creative, communal effort demonstrated here—gives me hope and joy.
I will see you next week. Until then, stay safe, well, and sane-ish.