Allowing joy and sorrow in the time of coronavirus

Photo credit: Kelly Sikkema

I am not one easily given to fear or obsessive worry. Yet I admit during this utterly strange and unprecedented time, I've definitely had my moments. Usually, they come during or after watching the news, so I'm limiting how much I take in each day. Sometimes a sudden sniffle or body ache will convince me I've got the virus and that can spiral into fear.

For the most part, however, I have been fortunately calm and even-keeled. But yesterday morning, after I meditated and had my coffee, after I checked in with my mom, read a poem and connected with a few friends over text, I felt a deep sadness. Inexplicable and sudden and very much real. And so I sat still, and let it run through me. I let the tears come. I put my hand on my heart. I told myself, "I am here for this moment." 

And I allowed that sorrow to speak, let myself be with the heaviness of these times. With those who are far from family and other loved ones, especially parents and children. With those who are frail and vulnerable. With those who have lost their jobs or carry the fear that they will and the small business owners who may not survive this. With those who were struggling or sick or isolated before this pandemic and are now feeling and fearing more intensely the weight of what each day brings. With those making tough decisions to steer and protect us through these uncharted waters. With those in health care, as well as other essential workers, doing their best to continue to serve and care for us at their own risk. With those who live in places around the world where practicing good hygiene and social distancing is a tremendous challenge.

With all those grieving life as they once knew it. Grieving the interruptions, the chaos, the delays. A host of losses still to come.

And my heart hurt. And the tears ran hot.

And eventually they stopped. My breath came easier and something inside shifted. Yet I also know emotions can get stuck in our bodies, even what we think we've processed and more often what we're not even aware we're carrying.

So I decided to crank up the volume on some old reggae tunes and have a solo dance party.

Because dancing makes me happy. Because the body was made for movement. And moving releases stuck energy. Because right now what feels good is what I want to keep returning to. What drops me into my body when the mind is a runaway train are practices I want to tend. 

After about 15 minutes, I felt so much lighter and more expansive.

I am positive and cheerful by nature. And I appreciate that there's so much positivity being shared right now at a time when it would be easy to take a doom-and-gloom perspective.

But I also believe in honoring what we feel. In making room for the difficult and uncomfortable. In sitting with those emotions and trusting I won't feel them forever. 

And that creates more space for joy, for freedom, for wonder — for all the goodness that's still here to be had, no matter how uncertain these times, as we also do our part to support those whose needs are greater than ours.