Giving Myself Permission to Feel the Feels

A benefit of our current covid-19 world is the uptake in taking the time to connect with others virtually, something that we often say we will do when we have a chance, but often don't get around to. I have been so busy with work and catching up with people that the time has flown by. Some conversations are lighthearted and fun, and some are serious and intense. They go from a group of fabulous ladies laughing for hours to talking with loved ones about wishes should we contract the virus and have to be in the hospital alone.

A pivotal moment happened when I was reminded tonight about something that has woven its' way into many conversations in the past few days. One conversation talked about Brene Brown's idea of writing permission slips for ourselves, (for example I give myself permission to ask for help when I need it). Another close friend I admire told me about the season of Lent being a time of grief and sorrow where we should allow ourselves to acknowledge those emotions. I am always trying to stay positive and bring light to the dark situations, but when I discovered tonight that my daughter had learned that from me and was trying to bury her fear so deep inside she wouldn't know it was there, I realized it was time to let the walls down and give myself permission to feel the feels.

In giving my sweet girl a chance to express her fears by telling her I felt them too and it was okay to feel them, I let her name them, claim them and let them go. So now I must try to do the same for myself. Tonight I sit here in the wee hours of the morning doing my night shift for our little warrior, with the comforting sound of his concentrator pumping oxygen to him and the gentle flickering of the machines surrounding him in his crib, feeding him, monitoring his vitals and I finally give in. The weight is heavy. The fear is so palatable I can hardly swallow. The desire to gather up all my loved ones and try to protect them from the world is so powerful it takes everything in me to let them sleep and stay here typing. The tears flow like Alice in Wonderland where they are enough to create a lake below. My breath stops when I think of the words whispered in between sobs "I don't want to lose my baby brother Mommy, he is so important to me."

My heart hurts not only for us who have been on this isolation journey for two years now, but for all those who are joining us and discovering what it is like to be disconnected and having to navigate in a whole new reality. I grieve for those who have lost loved ones already or are worried about those who are sick. I recognize the adjustment phase and remember trying to pull through the muddy murky landscape of an altered perspective.

My heart crumbles when I hear people saying, "but this will end" and this way of living is only "temporary". I want this difficult time to end for everyone. I want people to feel comfortable running to the store for a bag of milk or toilet paper. I want it to end for you, but I don't want it to end for me. Because the truth is that this need for frequent self-isolation for us will only end when we are dressing for our son's funeral. We will all enter into a post-covid world, but not all of us will come fully out of isolation and that is the way it has to be.

So I know it is hard for everyone, if anyone understands it is me, but please, please, please remind yourself and your loved ones that by thinking of others, by staying at home, by keeping your distance for the time being, by washing your hands and disinfecting common surfaces, you can help shorten the time that you are in isolation - and help those of us with medically compromised loved ones have as many moments as we can protect and cherish before we have no moments left.