“Amy” sits on her couch, trying her best to make eye contact with me through her computer screen during an online session and says “I just can’t anymore. I’m exhausted. The overlap of all my responsibilities is overwhelming, and there’s no end in sight. How am I supposed to keep this up?” She tears up, puts her hand over her eyes and lets out a semi-contained cry, trying not to lose control completely.
She isn’t alone. One of the most common threads in clients’ pandemic experiences has been the struggle to adapt to this layering phenomenon – there’s no more switching of hats – instead you wear all the hats, all the time. And you don’t feel like you wear any of them well. The expectations of their various roles haven’t fully shifted yet – work, parenting, friendships, extended family connecting and care provision, their structures, schedules and external pressures to stay safe and healthy in public, how to reintroduce health care appointments, navigate slow re-entry into social situations, and figure out how to find personal space when all the space you occupy is constantly shared by several other people. It’s taxing and can be without reprieve.
I’m hearing about the depleted self care factor from clients. People are running on fumes without their usual places, people and strategies to recharge them. No gyms, limited health care clinic access, few if any face to face visits with family and friends, the increased temptation to eat conveniently (and expensively), an increase in idle scrolling on social media, missing child care options so you could get that desperately needed break.
I’m hearing about the constantness of things – no break from the noise and needs of kids, the ongoing demands of unfinished work that looms over your head even though you’ve technically (maybe) managed to put in your owed hours. The inability to see far enough into the future to plan effectively.
I’m hearing about the inability to focus on any one thing at any given time. The lines have all blurred, particularly if you’re working from home. Schedules and routines are fuzzy, there are interruptions throughout your day, bouncing from meeting one need to the next – the “whack a mole” game effect. It’s so hard to do anything well, leaving the satisfaction levels low at the end of the day. The new version of success is just making it through the day without snapping.
I’m hearing about the increased amount of time clients’ bodies are dwelling in anxious places of wanting to fight, freeze or flee. It’s affecting their sleep, their eating patterns and their breathing. The stress build-up leaks in unwanted places, leading to guilt for the spill over onto people in our midst, adding one more relationship repair we need to make – add that to the endless list of things that require something of you.
The beauty of listening to Amy and clients who relate to her experience, is that I get to hear them weave through the messy process and emerge on the other side with incredible wisdom. There’s a reckoning that happens once the frustration pours out, the bricks in the walls are examined, and the grief has a chance to breathe. Instead of gripping tightly to what was – the expectations, the hopes of holding on just long enough until we can return to what was – there’s a release, a letting go. When courageous people let go, they permit themselves to look in a different direction and adapt. It makes space for creativity and acceptance. It allows new options to be planted and grow. Needs are allowed to be met differently, and sometimes even better than they were before the pandemic hit. They no longer hit the same walls over and over attempting to get back the old and continually feeling frustrated, incapable and defeated. Instead, they accept that road is a dead end, but it was never the only road. The new paths are still full of weeds, not yet paved, but there’s some light in that direction giving you hope that at least you will be allowed to move forward, even if it takes some hard work and intentional effort.
This shift lets us ask about our futures with curiosity rather than bitter resentment for what we can’t seem to get back. Grieving is a gate to seeing a new way forward. So if you’re feeling anything like Amy, consider the questions she started asking on the other side of her tears:
- I need to minimize the layers so at least part of my day is spent only wearing one hat at a time. I wonder if I can talk about this with my husband tonight. We could lay out all the “jobs” and “roles” we each have throughout the day and reevaluate what’s doable, what’s necessary and reconsider who takes on what and when. What could my new daily schedule look like? I’m sure he’s feeling the pressure too. Can’t remember the last time we had a date night – maybe it’s time to set that up in-house.
- It would feel so much better if I planned meals in advance instead of always feeling behind the 8 ball, coming up with last minute under pressure dishes that I don’t even have all the ingredients for. And why on earth am I not using that as my alone time? I actually used to love cooking. It would be a great 30 minutes of each day to set the kids up with something in the living room so I could put on some quiet music in the kitchen and focus on one task. I might actually feel present and grounded!
- Instead of waiting for this pandemic to have a finish line, why don’t I set my own goal posts? Ones that are shorter term and more in my control? I miss connecting with my close friends, and Zoom calls just aren’t the same. It would be kinda cool to write each of them a letter – I’ve always enjoyed putting pen to paper to express myself. And there’s a book I’ve wanted to read – maybe I’ll make that a target for next month. I’m so sick of focusing on what I can’t do. I bet it’ll feel better if I pour my attention into what I can do.
- I really need to give myself permission to reset the bar for what I expect of myself and of others. Repeatedly missing the mark is depleting – I think it’s reasonable now to just change the mark instead. Where did those bars even come from anyhow?
- I’ve never thought of myself as an anxious person, but my body sure has felt fried and on edge lately. How am I supposed to feel okay if I’m in that state? I want to try using a mindfulness app – I’ve heard they can help settle people when their nervous systems are off track. Can’t hurt.
- I realize now that while I’m sharing space with a bunch of people day in and day out, we aren’t really connecting. We’re just tolerating one another. I don’t have to “be there” for them all the time, but I’m finding I’m not fully there for them any of the time – I’m too busy hunting down a break from them. I bet I’d feel less guilty about that if I intentionally chose to do something with each person for 30 minutes a day.
Amy let herself acknowledge the loss and grieving allowed her to let go of what was. This made it possible to see a new way forward – one that didn’t focus on reclaiming the past but rather one that invested intentionally into creating ways of meeting the original base needs (time for self, connection with others, clarity of mind, a calmed nervous system, a sense of purpose) differently. Movement came, and with it, relief.
May you join Amy and find your light ahead.
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