Yes, You Are Allowed to Wear a Blanket Today.

(Vulnerable moment.)

What's been really interesting to me about all of these very valid posts I've been seeing, like this one, about how it's okay to hunker down and just get through this, just survive, just deal with all of your emotions during this time, is that I realized that this is what I have been doing for two years now.

I had a meltdown a couple of weeks ago when the uncertainty of it all hit me, but then I realized the familiarity of that uncertainty and the frustration I felt with it. It's the same thing I've been processing since my whole world blew up two years ago, and so many things kept happening, one thing after another, so that it felt like there was no control over anything. In truth, there WAS no control over anything.*

Here's the thing about trauma: PTSD is caused (as far as science and doctors can tell) when you cannot escape a traumatic situation. Our bodies are designed to run away or fight a threat. When they cannot do that - when they are forced to just endure it - it causes deep-seated neurological issues that often manifest in anxiety, depression, lack of energy, jitteriness, lack of concentration, etc. When this goes on for a long period of time, or is repeated many times over a period, it becomes complex PTSD, which is lesser-known because it doesn't usually feature the flashbacks or nightmares so well known in regular PTSD.

Complex PTSD, or C-PTSD, is often exacerbated when people dismiss one's traumatic experiences as being simply normal. But just because something is widespread doesn't make it normal for our human bodies to cope with. This pandemic is a fantastic example - we're all dealing with it in some form (even the idiot 24-year-old next-door-neighbor who chose to have an ACTUAL party in her backyard last night until 2 am on a Sunday.) So because everyone is dealing with it, many people have a tendency to describe what is "normal" to them as the right answer for everyone.

But this is traumatic - for many people, they are watching in horror as their livelihoods slip away. Will they be able to pay their mortgages? Eviction relief is one thing, but if you are paycheck-to-paycheck, and suddenly three months' worth of rent comes due when the emergency order is lifted, and you haven't HAD a paycheck for that whole time, what do you do? We always knew that a day would come that there wouldn't be enough jobs to go around, but suddenly that day is here; what do you do when you've worked in retail for 20 years, and now there is no retail work to be had? What do you do if you are a nurse who has to face the reality of the risk of not just getting infected yourself, but bringing it home to vulnerable family members? What about plans for career movement or weddings or long-awaited vacations? These are all things we are losing and collectively grieving.

I read a piece by Roxane Gay in Medium where she sums up how I've really been feeling: "Will any of what I have to say even matter when this is all over?"

But this feeling is not unfamiliar to me in a strange way. And I can see how, repeatedly over the past two years, I have tried (and failed, miserably,) to try and establish some control over the waves of change that have just washed over me and knocked me down and filled my mouth and soul with fear and uncertainty. And I tried it again a couple of weeks ago. But this, like so many other things that happened to me in the past two years, is uncontrollable, and our world will be different in so many ways when it is all over, and it won't be all over at once, but in jolts and shudders and long, drawn-out sighs, and it is OKAY to let your body feel afraid, and to sit with those feelings and acknowledge them and pull your warm cup of coffee to your chest and get out your fuzziest blanket and ignore the call of your to-do list.** Because I'm speaking from experience when I tell you that if you run from it, it will still be there whenever you turn around, so you'll have to keep running forever. You don't have control over your future right now. All you can control is the one thing right in front of you, and sometime's that's simply your breathing.

So if that's all you can do right now, in this moment, because everything else is too scary, I'm giving you permission to just breathe.

*For those just joining me, here's the rundown:

• Jan. 2018: grandfather died
• Feb. 2018: end of 6-year relationship
• Feb. 2018: (just a handful of days later) hospitalized with flu, peeing blood from dehydration
• Feb. 2018: traumatized me seeks comfort in new relationship (like an idiot)
• May 2018: gets engaged to new relationship (like an idiot)
• May 31 2018: buys house with fiance (like an idiot)
• June 1 2018: sprains ankle moving in to house, spends three hours in urgent care, fiance DOES NOT CARE and makes me keep moving, grocery shop, and make dinner that night
• June 7 2018: break it off with jerk fiance, spend next 3.5 months living downstairs of new house in increasingly hostile environment, scared every day that something bad would happen to my cats
• Summer 2018 (not sure what month): stepdad diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer
• Sept. 2018: finally close on both old house and new house, move in to fabulous new house
• Nov. 1 2018: stepfather succumbs to cancer
• Nov. 2018: (two weeks later) abnormal pap smear
• Nov. 2018: (two weeks later) attempted biopsy reveals growth in uterus, 6-18% chance it's cancer
• Dec. 21 2018: surgery, no cancer, random growth the size of a man's pinky finger removed
• There was peace for a while; spring of 2019 went well.
• But then in July of 2019 I had to end a long-standing and close friendship when I discovered the deep dishonesty that underlay it. It hurts to lose one of your support systems, even though you've discovered that support is rotten to the core.
• Fall, 2019: workplace culture becomes untenable. Not ready to discuss that yet, but I rage quit without regret right before Christmas.
• Jan. 2020: completely change careers after a decade in education
• Late Jan. 2020: biological father dies. Even though we haven't had a relationship in almost 15 years, still a shock to the system.
• Feb/Mar. 2020: COVID-19 crisis hits

** (Yes, I know some people find comfort in creation; you do you, boo.)