I'm saying it, too
None of this is a bid for sympathy; we’re all in this boat.
On Monday at 5 pm and I found myself so overwhelmed, I dumped the remnants of whatever was left in a bag of chips from the pantry onto a plate and stood outside in the setting sun. It was like a force propelled me from my computer and into the cold to soak up a moment of light. I have been drowning, what feels like all year, and I needed to recharge. This moment - I wouldn’t even call it a nice moment - wasn’t a solve, but it felt like the only thing that could get me out of a spiral.
I could sit here and go into why work is the reason I’m overwhelmed, but it’s so much more. What really gets me as we approach a year of being locked down is how bad this year has really been. And of course, there have been fun and happy moments, but when I stop and think about the gravity of what we’ve all endured, like I find myself doing now, after midnight, I am sad, I am grief-stricken. I’m frustrated that we can’t rationalize any of this in a bid to find some reassuring logic. I can’t believe the reality of this year: The mass COVID deaths, racism, antisemitism, anti-Asian hate, police brutality, the rise of unashamed white supremacy, and general American divisiveness feels so grave after a year of fewer distractions.
The thing that happens when anxiety and overwhelm are all-consuming is that your routine gets wrecked and your tools for self-preservation are the first to go. My morning meditation/writing/working out ritual went to shit the minute the pressure at work went up these recent weeks. At first, it feels like a time-saving trade-off, but what it really is is quicksand. You fall deeper and deeper into the blurry mess and you find yourself starving at 5 pm because you haven’t had the time or energy to make it to the grocery store, so you reach for scraps.
The next thing to go is your ability to show up for others. I owe lots of people I love emails, feedback on their projects, participation in groups I care about. I don’t have the emotional energy to be the type of friend I want to be, and for someone whose joy and fulfillment comes from supporting others, it is particularly frustrating.
None of this is a bid for sympathy; we’re all in this boat. We’re in survival mode, and a lot of us are struggling silently. I’m thankful when people remind me that we’re living in trying times, and maybe me saying it here will remind you that you’re not alone, too.