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| Not my image. |
But what I do have is life experience, and can offer some practical advice about getting through this time.
When bad things happen to us, there is often a sense of anger, resentment, frustration, worry, confusion, grief, despair, sorrow.
There are many different emotions we can experience individually, or clustered together, that seem to have no rhyme or reason to our understanding of why we are feeling that particular emotion.
Myriad reasons can be used to explain why this feeling now; sometimes the why is as important as the what is. I'm an existentialist and find the value of the why and the how. That's not for everyone.
What is important, however, is how you understand yourself, how you react, and how you are going to act/react in the situation as it continues or dissipates.
The times are unprecedented for the current set of generations living right now.
But I'll give you a hint: the times aren't unprecedented overall.
I'll attempt to be gentle without mocking, but the fact of the matter is, history and previous generations have seen disease come like a thief in the night to steal your children, your family members, your very way of life.
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| A pretty flower for a heavy topic |
The 10th plague in the story of Moses bears some similarity, as every firstborn child was taken.
How about the numerous outbreaks of plague that cropped up every few decades or centuries in medieval Europe, wiping out thousands to millions of lives?
How about the 1918 Spanish Flu?
For many, this time is a scary time because most of us have probably never experienced death, panic, and fear of the unknown in such a visceral way.
Neither have I, but I'm weathering it a little better than others, I imagine.
I've lived through watching my family lose their house twice, go through bankruptcy, see my parents deal with depression in monumentally debilitating ways, saw their marriage disintegrate, and ultimately, watching my dad quickly decline due to illness over a nine-month period before he died, on top of other things...well, I had a lot to be angry at God for.
Resilience is a tough skill to develop, but it is one that we work on as we live through struggle after struggle after struggle.
I hit a point in dealing with my trauma from the numerous things that had happened when I could no longer continue to minimize and act like my pain wasn't there. An entire childhood and adulthood of having my own feelings minimized or dismissed in favor of my parents' needs didn't teach me resilience. It taught me silence and submission.
FYI: That's not healthy to do to others, especially your own child.
But once I had come through working on giving voice to and finally acknowledging my pain and frustration, I learned some valuable lessons that currently are helping me in the current crises.
Everything that we do, experience, or feel, teaches us something. At the time that we are struggling there may be no clear answers, and for me, much of that took the form of deep anger at God.
And yet there is a hesitation to engage in anger at God because God is our Father, and we are meant to love him deeply for the gifts that he gives us.
But that is assuming that all the gifts God gives us are beautiful, happy things that delight us always.
A dear friend likes to intone the saying, "All is gift".
It took me some time to really accept the idea that all is gift, for this encompasses the sorrow, the struggle, the pain, the frustration, the drama of human suffering, as well as the joys that come: the birth of a child, the excitement of a date going well, the soft tender moments with your spouse when you just wake up.
All is gift.
But how does this play into resilience?
About two-and-a-half years ago, I read the entire book of Ecclesiastes.
It is probably one of the least appreciated books on practical advice I've ever read, and far easier to digest than even some of the gospels, as much as I love the gospels.
The advice it gives is practical, and is the place where we draw the saying, "Nothing is new under the sun."
Reading the book, it may seem a bit cynical, but then, wisdom is.
Wisdom can be considered a combination of intelligence, experience, and learning, or technically metis, also known as the Greek goddess of prudence, wisdom, and learning.
Resilience, as far as I understand it, comes from learning over years of experience to be tough. But that toughness doesn't mean being hard and cruel, emotionless and stoic. There are times when that is necessary. Resilience is more than that; to be that kind of resilient would make you a hardened monster incapable of love, joy, and above all, of mercy.
Reslience can be worn down over time, but it can also be renewed and replenished through prayer, meditation, and self-care, through the interpersonal interactions we have with God, our friends and families, and with ourselves. It requires wisdom by sitting silently with yourself and reflecting.
Though I am just beginning my education in counseling, one of the things I notice is how few people reflect well on themselves and their situation. They wallow in despair or anger:
The president did this!
I'm angry at that!
It's not fair!
No.
It isn't fair.
It isn't fair that we are all cooped up.
It isn't fair that the president and his administration probably acted far too late.
Yes, we are all angry, frustrated, and sick of this situation.
Suck it the f*ck up.
Expressing your anger and the unfairness of it all is reasonable and understandable. But try to not slide into the narcissistic pity party of everything is hard, unfair, and I don't like it.
None of us likes this.
Resilience requires maturity to recognize that things are tough, and above all, we must keep moving forward.
At the end of "Meet the Robinsons", there is a great quote by Walt Disney. As the quote plays on, those three words are highlighted.
Resilience as a Christian, and for the nonreligious, as a mature adult, means realizing that there is only so much we can do. We feel helpless in this situation—which will become direr and our frustration mounts in intensity as the weeks stretch on and more people become sick, or succumb and die. You will feel helpless.
And you will learn the thing that I had to as I watched my dad slowly deteriorate and eventually die.
You keep moving forward.
Right now, this feels intense. Right now, it feels impossible to imagine getting through one day at a time. But we have to.
Because if we do not, the real engine of our society, us, will stop.
Coronavirus is one of many stresses, struggles, or traumas you are going to experience. You have the unique experience of knowing millions of other people are struggling in it as well.
I didn't have that. There is no one I know or am friends with who can tell you what it is like to watch your parent, someone you deeply feared, loved, and hated at the same time, die, and crawl into a hospital bed to cradle their body and weep uncontrollably at the lifeless shell you are now holding.
The people who I have that experience in common with? Adults in their 50s, 60s, and 70s who have already experienced burying their parents.
Most of my hardness comes from having experienced an inordinate amount of suffering on my own, because most people my age just haven't seen it themselves: not disease, not getting fired, laid off, losing their house, struggling to pay a mortgage. Certainly not all of those things by the time they hit 25.
Resilience is knowing when to suck it up and tough it out, and when to seek advice from those who have the experience to understand what you have lived through and comfort you through it. And you, being that reborn, renewed person, you are given the gift of being the next watchman. That means sometimes giving advice, and sometimes, more often and the more uncomfortable option, is shutting up and letting someone else cry through their pain. Resilience teaches you to be strong and stronger for others who haven't learned yet the emotional and mental toughness to get through this. Ultimately, it stops being about you.
This time will teach you that people have gone through this before.
Because you are going to be called to be Charon, the ferryman of the dead, leading others across the river Styx in darkness, not to judgement, but hope. And the toll you ask of them is that they carry on, have strength, and pay it forward to the next person by teaching them, by being loving, by helping that next individual to stay mostly calm, to accept not with reservation, but with joy and thanksgiving, the best you can, to keep breathing and take each day as it is today.
Worrying about tomorrow will not bring you peace. Christ does that. He works through us, to be that person who comforts us, or offers a smile on a rainy day, and those are the works of mercy and charity that we can give.
Have your anger at God about the situation and speak to him. Bet you thought I forgot that point.
Anger at God is real and understandable. Like all relationships, ours with him requires communication, and he wishes you to bring even that to him. Sob, wail, lament. Find a quiet room and have that low moment and allow the catharsis of simply acknowledging your frustration in this place where you are, will help you to recognize that all is not lost. You may not have control of the situation, but you do have control of how you interact, understand, accept, and act with accord in the kingdom God has given you right now. So tell him that deep fear or worry, and just sit and breathe, seeing what comes out of it.
Read Ecclesiastes, and if you have a chance, listen to the podcast embedded below.
Adam Young is a Christian counselor whom I have found to be helpful in understanding my own trauma by learning to engage with it meaningfully in prayer. I've done my raging at God, and found it wasn't really God I was angry with, but myself, the situation, the actions (or inaction) of others.
We live in a unique time, for our generation at least, to step up and be our own champions, and even the parent to ourselves that we need to stir us and tell us to stop wallowing in our self-despair and pity.
You act like a coward when you hide in the dark thinking the world is too big, afraid and self-pitying. It is too big; you can't handle it alone. Have your cry; rage at God and sob if you need to, or write a letter and journal it. But at a point, decide that you have had enough and stand up and do something. Acknowledge that you are in pain, but know you aren't helpless or alone. Know that while this discomfort feels all-encompassing, it will pass, even if it hasn't passed yet. Reach out to someone. If they reject you, reach out to the next person.
And again.
And pray.
This post was updated 4-4-2020 for factual inaccuracies.
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