Setting the Fear Aside
From a friend’s farm on a recent trip home to Steamboat, CO.
I had one thing on my mind when we shut down our business on March 12, 2020. Do not let this business go under. In order to muster the ideas and energy and focus to make this happen, I began a sort of emotional prioritizing.
In that same week I had two other major upheavals (seriously major) involving family members, and a company who announced a very expensive legal claim against me. It was a shit show.
I have a trusted mentor and an army of awakened friends who were a phone call away to share my burdens. They all had plenty of time on their hands to answer my calls and listen long, but I didn’t require it of them as much as I would have imagined. Interestingly, I didn’t feel the grief and shock that would normally accompany such upheaval.
I was in survivor mode. My focus on keeping the business going was potent and constant. I had to keep the flow of ideas circulating. Every day required a morning organization session to map out the day’s plan. I had to learn more new things in a week than I had in whole years, previously. When things failed, I didn’t have time to be upset or disgruntled. I kept moving.
About the events in my personal life, I had to say, Not Now. I literally had to compartmentalize, and could picture myself picking up the bundle of trauma and sticking it over to the side for another time. I’d deal with it later.
It didn’t take much effort to shut off the emotions. The priority of my livelihood was not just mentally established, but implanted on an existential level. A drive emerged in me that intended on doing everything in my power to stop my dream career from going down the toilet. There was no guarantee that our business would make it, and I couldn’t fathom its loss.
In another time I would been devastated by my personal losses and betrayals. I’d have plodded though the stages of grief with great understanding and compassion for myself, and eventually, for my family members. I’m familiar with navigating the waters of recovery from trauma, and know about patience and healing. They just weren’t required at this time.
As the months passed and my new plans seemed to keep the business just above water, I switched to future thinking. There was still much uncertainty about the economy and recovery from the pandemic, and I determined to set things in place to afford a more resilient future for us. With hybrid in-person and Zoom offerings, a new video course, and new assistants to help, I knew that if things ever got back to normal I’d have a robust new model for future growth and possibilities. Planning and implementation took focus, and my emotional storage shed was mounting with set-aside bundles.
When vaccines and hope started showing up, I continued on my resolute course, untrusting of the possibility of a let-up in the global situation. Without some evidence that these brand-new, quickly concocted solutions would be the magic wand that liberated us from the year of panic, I was not going to kick back and expect money to start rolling in. Our student rosters were still feeble, and Covid numbers were still high.
Birmingham’s industry is hospitals, and we are inundated with doctors and nurses. Many are my students, and along with the occasional pharmacist, they keep me abreast of the goings on in the medial world. I was well aware of how crowded the Covid wards were and how tired the staff was. I didn’t carry a nonchalant view of the crisis.
The day I got the vaccine I came home surprised to feel relieved to the point of being exhilarated. I’d walked in for my shot nervous and skeptical, still not at all on board with something concocted by American pharmaceutical companies, entities I put little trust in. But once needled, I gave in to hope for the first time in over a year. At least there was a chance that something might change.
And from that day, I started feeling terrible. Yes, I had side-effects from the vaccine, which lasted longer than most people have them, but this was different. I started feeling those stress bundles start to unravel.
Remember, besides my own personal upheaval of the previous March, our world had a few disruptions in 2020. For the next month the dyke that held my set-aside emotions opened up. Not only did I feel grief, anger, and numbness from my family issues, I’d reel with shock at particular national events that had happened months before. I woke up on morning, four months late, panicked that the nation’s capital had been stormed. It was as if it had just happened.
My friends are gentle and reminded me that 14 months of stuffing pain is not going to smooth over instantly. They told me it’s OK to not be OK. I let myself cry and be angry and rest. Knowing that a vacation in which I could get enormous amounts of physical exercise would be just the ticket, I made plans to go home to Colorado and hike my heart out.
The prescription for longterm upheaval is like that for PTSD victims. I’m not going to diagnose myself, but it stands to reason that embracing a similar approach to recovery couldn’t hurt. It’s starts with being aware of arising emotions and expressing them through talking, writing, art, and physical activity. Waiting and resting are a must. And I like to tell myself that I don’t have to get an A+. I give myself permission to have C- days. It’s all subjective anyway. Lowering my expectations of accomplishments and appearance and all the things I tend is necessary to allow Grace to release the burdens.
Now I’m picking up the pace again. I’m feeling a vast freedom. Since business is fine again and I’ve been relieved of much of the stored pain I was harboring, I am inching out into the light of new creativity and expansion. I’m pacing myself, not wanting to fall into old routines that didn’t serve me before the pandemic, armed with a fresh take on my business and some invigorating new projects in the works.
Looking back, I am impressed by my ability to compartmentalize pain. It’s not healthy for the longterm, but it’s powerful medicine for a crisis. I’m grateful for lots of experience in processing stored trauma, which enabled me to emerge from the year relatively quickly and gracefully. And now that the fire of Covid has (for now) burned itself down, I am delighted at all the new life it has brought to the surface.
I’m curious about how you navigated the emotional waters of Covid. Share with me in the comments.
