Through The Looking Glass

How we see ourselves may change as we navigate the uncharted waters of life in a Pandemic

We all have our stories.

Some of them we tell other people: the time we did something amazing, or witnessed something exquisite and rare, learned a life lesson that’s really important to us.

Some of them we tell ourselves: what kind of person we are, how we tackle challenges, what makes us afraid, where we are strongest.

I’ve always told myself that I’m organized, strong, disciplined and hard-working. I don’t waste time with emotions when things are hard; I do the work that has to be done, I push through, I make things happen.

I’m not delusional — there’s been plenty of evidence that confirms my beliefs about myself. For example, I used to teach in California, and the middle school where I worked had to put together a detailed plan for what we would do if a catastrophic quake hit. Our principal went down the list of the areas that needed leadership from among the staff, and when he got to “morgue,” explaining that the leader there would not only be in charge of moving bodies to a holding area but interfacing with parents to deliver the bad news, the room was silent.

Then someone raised her hand and nominated me. “If anyone could handle that, Lisa could,” she said, and lots of people nodded their heads.

(See? Now I’ve told you one of my stories!)

So that’s me: no nonsense, not bogged down with sentiment, practical, efficient, can-do. If there’s crying to do, I’ll do it later, when it can’t get in the way.

Except that story doesn’t match the woman I seem to have become in the past few days.

An unexpected shift

When we were sent home, told to shelter in place, I had a plan: I wrote down a daily schedule and kept to it: school work, housework (projects!), exercise, writing, more school work, more exercise, and plenty of time to design entertaining meals for the family. I didn’t adhere to it perfectly, but for the most part it was solid ground beneath my feet. I recognized myself, I matched my own stories.

That was three weeks ago.

This week, instead of tera firma I seem to be walking through shifting sands: soft, warm, unreliable. And difficult to get through.

This week it seems more appealing to sit down…and just stay sitting.

This week staying up until midnight and sleeping in until 9:00 seems….fine.

This week I feel tears welling up out of nowhere, for no reason, and I want to curl up in a ball and cover myself with blankets.

I feel tender, fragile. A total stranger to myself.

Where’d that Teflon lady go? Where’s the me who scoffs at people who are wracked with worry and seem to spend all their time wringing their hands over the new normal? Don’t misunderstand her: for people who are suffering, going hungry, homeless, sick, really in need — she’s got all kinds of empathy for them and has already donated blood and canned goods and anything else she could think of to help where there is need in her community. It’s just the people tucked away safely in their homes, with enough money and enough food and no unmet needs, who are rocking themselves back and forth like catatonic children, who she gets impatient with.

But she’s not here today. This week she’s gone away, and I don’t know where to find her.

The strange truth is, I don’t know if I want to.

Without her here, time feels softer, slower. The air is gentle, and I don’t feel guilty for not doing more with all this “extra” time.

In her absence I have sat on the sofa and read my book for an hour…and again later in the day, for another hour. Blankets were wrapped around my legs, and I sometimes just stared into space and did nothing.

And last night I wanted to be held. Just rocked and held and snuggled. And I wanted to cry.

Look In The Mirror

Do you recognize yourself in this new world we’re navigating? Do your stories about yourself still match who you are each day?

If not, what will you do about it?

I don’t think I’m going to do anything.

Well, I’ll do this: I’m going to leave this new me alone, let her get comfortable, and get to know her.

Life has taught me that when a surprise shows up, it’s time to pay attention, there’s a lesson to be learned. So I’m going to watch and wait and see what she has to teach me.

I don’t want to not be all the things my stories say I am: strong, clear-headed, action-oriented, these are good things. But maybe now I am going to find out that I can be other things, and they won’t cancel each other out. Maybe I can be soft too, and let feelings have center stage sometimes. And maybe there are times when action should be tempered with stillness, like the deep waters beneath the waves of the ocean. Even when it’s stormy at the surface, fathoms below there is tranquility, and the sure, steady pull of the tide.

And I think it’s better if I listen to this new woman, who doesn’t want to judge other people for their reactions, because change is a frightening thing no matter who you are, and everyone has high stakes in this game.

What stories are you telling yourself to get through this time? What will your story be, when we all emerge from the pandemic?