Brain fog… moving around in a grey haze… forgetting what day it is… sluggishness… exhaustion… not sure what is coming next – these are all feelings I have been having lately. Maybe you have too. It’s nervous-system overload. My body feels heavy, my mind flighty, flitting from one thing to the next, and I can’t get things done. Midway through the day, I still haven’t done anything. And, even though I do not want to bypass any of it, I am exhausted, overwhelmed, and drained. True presence takes enormous courage, along with a willingness to feel pain, face the heartache, have patience, be open and vulnerable, and stay with it.
Even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, I sat with the uncertainty – like diving into a cocktail of sadness, grief, rage, relief, disappointment, sorrow, joy, fear, disgust, disbelief, disappointment, anger, and numbness. I felt the wave of powerlessness, then the next wave of disgust, then anger, then fear, then numbness, then resignation, then anger again. I allowed it all so I could listen to what the emotions needed me to hear. What can I do? How can I help? I had no answers. I took a deep breath, drank some tea, and stayed. I didn’t leave myself.
These feelings are uncomfortable, and it’s hard to be with the uncertainty when certainty feels so much better, safer, clearer. I remember asking my mother once why she was walking so fast. “To get ahead of the thoughts,” she would say. I get that. But the thoughts will eventually catch up. So we need to listen and hear. Listen to the still, small voice that says behind all the noise, “Tolerance for discomfort is necessary for any growth to occur.” And, so it goes.
When we don’t know what to expect next, we can find ourselves in a perpetual state of stress and uncertainty. You may have already been experiencing that with the pandemic. Now, with the protests, this time feels heartbreaking, raw, volatile. There is even more uncertainty for me as I ponder, What conscious action can I take? I am angry but I don’t know what to do or where to start. It is a time of upheaval and, I hope, also a time of change. Then again, I hear that tiny voice inside me say, “When we are disorientated is when we have the potential to be most aware.” For example, when we are lost, driving, or walking, we notice things more. When we know where we are going, we often go straight there without looking around. During these times, I can be present and move toward connecting to that quiet, still place inside for answers.
I decided to go back to my torn-up gratitude journal and write some more. Discomfort is temporary. Change is necessary. Each day has frustrations and victories. Change takes a willingness to tolerate the uncertainty and discomfort. Trust the journey. Befriend the resistance. Can I try to translate my frustration and disgust into action and hope? Can I find a way out of this shitstorm into something real and true and beautiful? Hope takes courage in the midst of chaos.
Just then, the lotus came to mind – the lotus that grows out of the mud and rises up from the swampy, mucky guck. Can I remind myself of that image when I start to doubt, when I’m losing hope again and again? Could I sit with my fears and move through them with compassion and love? I needed to muster up the courage, but I can do it.
Right now, we are standing at the edge looking out at what we could be and who we are. We have a real opportunity to create a “new norm” for ourselves, where we can live in a way more aligned with our values. It will take time. But, my hope is that by sitting with the discomfort more regularly, I can become less quick to judge, less biased, less assuming, more willing to listen, understand different points of view, and try to respect people of all different walks of life, backgrounds, and lifestyles.
Nothing will get better overnight. And, change takes the uncomfortable task of sitting with the discomfort. But, can change happen? Yes. Does it start with me? Yes. Once more, I heard that small voice inside, “Be the change you wish to see.” Okay, I had what I needed for now. That quiet voice inside me was speaking, and I was ready to listen.
