You Don’t Have COVID-19? You Can Still Grieve

Wow. This is the first time in the 10 weeks since quarantine started that I’ve been inspired to write. I’ve wanted to! I’ve tried. But alas, I’ve always ended up staring at a blinking cursor and a blank screen.

A couple weeks ago, my boyfriend (an essential worker) came home from work and found me lying flat on the kitchen rug. It was a weird place to lie, but I was feeling hugely unmotivated that day. The sun–which I’d been craving–had finally decided to shine its rays through a cloudless sky, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to move from the rug.

So it goes with daily lockdown life in New York State. There are good days and bad days, up weeks and down weeks, exciting moments and draining moments. I have so far avoided contracting COVID-19–or Corona as I prefer to call it. And while somehow I’ve managed to deal with a bout of lice and poison ivy in quarantine, I’m alive; I’m breathing; I’m healthy.

We were doing this for the greater good. But that novelty has begun to wear off as restrictions are lifted in some states, yet fears and the virus remain. When some of us are still on lockdown, but others aren’t.

At the beginning of the spread of the virus–when life as we knew it began to take on a drastically different shape–we were all reminding each other that we were lucky. We had each other, albeit socially distantly, and we had our health. Death tolls were climbing but we were, for all intents and purposes, safe.

But what my physical health has provided me since the lockdown began, my mental health has not. It’s fair-minded and equitable to remind ourselves of the good and the luck that we have, but it does not do our mental health any justice to negate the difficult circumstances we find ourselves in, virus or not.

Our feelings not only deserve to be acknowledged, but it is imperative that we recognize them. Pushing them under the proverbial rug (not the rug my boyfriend found me recently lying on) does not make them any less valuable or warranted. If that’s all we did, overshadowing our own struggles by comparing them to the struggles of others, our seemingly small concerns would become a large lump under that rug that we would one day trip and fall on. And speaking from experience, that downward spiral is a black hole of its own.

My dear friend who has been experiencing the restricting lockdown life in India reminded me recently that we are always, always allotted to our feelings:

“Quick reminder that it’s okay to not be okay. We are all going through grief. Even if we have stable jobs and our loved ones are healthy.” –Pooja Dutt

Someone out there will always be in a worse situation than you, but you cannot live the life you’re meant to live if you do not take care of yourself. Have theory of mind, but remember to be self-aware. In your reflections of the world in its current state and your place in it, do not deprive yourself of the self-care and compassion that you need, that you deserve, and that you are inherently entitled to.

How “Calm Corner” Spaces Build Social / Emotional Skills for Children

We’ve all got that comfy spot we throw ourselves into when we need to relax, be it lounging on the sofa, sprawling out on the bed, or kicking back in a patio chair. Adults and children need breaks to decompress every now and then.

While working at a preschool for children with special needs, the teachers and I created a cozy space for regulating emotion–aptly dubbed the “calm corner.”

Read about how calm corners in the classroom and home setting are pivotal to child social/emotional development in my most recent article for my school’s website.

P.S. OMG I’ve written so many articles about emotions.

Dear Joaquin

It’s been three years but I still think of you.

I remember you before, I remember you during, and I remember you after.

You don’t invade my dreams like you used to, robbing me of sleep each time I tried to close my eyes. You don’t make me nauseous like you did when I first met you. You don’t make me sob, but you can still make me cry.

I will never forget you, and I don’t want to forget you. But for far too long, you ran my life. You defined my fears and insecurities, my paranoia and my heartache. You were the catalyst to so many other terrible experiences, but in you I’ve also found a beacon of strength.

You destroyed everything in your path, and you threatened to destroy me. I am not impenetrable. But I am resilient, don’t you see?

As the homes were rebuilt, so did I rebuild the very bones that you had rattled for 36 hours straight and countless days and nights after.

As I sat drying and tossing and searching for the things you tried to take from me, I remembered that you took so much more from so many who had less.

As I listened to others share their stories, I realized I wasn’t alone, and together we rose from your ruins.

It’s been three years and I still think of you, but it’s different now. Good different.

RIP Hurricane Joaquin. You helped shape the woman I am today, and for that, I’m forever grateful.

 

Oct 14, 2015 (2 weeks later):

Hurricane Joaquin was terrifying in its before, during, and after. I am safe but my emotions are raw; the island is devastated. I have choked back vomit and tears more times than I can tally. You never expect when you take off on a dream to travel the world that the place you start to call your home can be ravaged so severely, so unforgivingly by Mother Nature. You never expect that you will get caught up 20 miles from the eye of a disaster that will live in history and meteorology as one of the most unexpected, unpredictable, perfect storms to date. You never expect to face so much fear and sadness, to flee your house, to hear survival stories of neighbors breaking through rooftops, clinging to trees, Duct taping identification to their bodies, crouching in a closet with two large dogs for 36 hours straight. Two days of 130, 145 mph winds–gusts clocked at 200. Two days of relentless storm surges. And an apocalyptic aftermath that leaves you empty.

I am writing this at a temporary communication tower with a crawling internet speed as the main tower was taken out by the storm, along with over 600 telephone poles in a 40-mile stretch. It took 1 hr to drive to it. Electricity is just being restored to parts of the island.

In my transient 6 months on Long Island, Bahamas, I’ve learned that what makes this place paradise more than its beautiful landscapes is its beautiful people. This is a resilient community. I don’t know how and I don’t know when but somehow, sometime, life will go back to normal.

If you would like to help, please, please do so. People have lost everything, including their source of income to rebuild. Contact SEACOR in Ft. Lauderdale to send food, water, building supplies, clothing, bedding, feminine hygiene products, and infant needs. Contact NEMA in Nassau, Bahamas for monetary donations. Private planes can transport supplies to the Stella Maris airport which has opened up here on Long Island.

Whether you pray, meditate, or simply ponder, please keep this island at the forefront of your mind now and in the indefinite future.

Oct 21, 2015 (3 weeks later): 

In the wake of Hurricane Joaquin, the support I’ve received from family and friends in every pocket of the globe has been humbling. I am a firm believer that no friendship is ever too small. In times like these, we lean on each other. I’m doing a lot of leaning. Please, people, if you ever need help, consider it a moment of strength, not weakness, when you choose to lean on someone. We are all we’ve got.