Friday I lost it. I was overwhelmed by social distancing, so much togetherness with my people with no end in sight, while we both need to continue working from home, not wanting to expose grandparents and other potential caregivers to our germs, by the reality that this is our new reality. I was overwhelmed by conservative estimates that the death toll in the U.S. is expected to be 200,000 from corona virus this year- at least 200,000 people who are someone's loved ones with memories and stories and lives and Christmas lists, gone. I was overwhelmed by a therapy industry that was forced to go digital overnight, by keeping up with HIPAA laws that are changing daily, and by which insurance companies are covering telehealth sessions and which are not. I was overwhelmed by the hundreds of conversations happening online about which HIPAA-compliant video chat platforms were crashing at any given time because they were unprepared for the drastic increase in demand, and which insurance companies would not be reimbursing therapists who resorted to phone sessions to support clients in crisis because the systems failed. I was overwhelmed at my role in supporting and encouraging children and families in crisis, when I wasn't sure if I had the bandwith to be supportive or encouraging. I was sad for my clients who are anxious, scared, and suicidal, and I was anxious about what resources remain for these clients in a time where we are reducing and reserving so much. I was overwhelmed at the thought of what this is doing to so many small businesses in my community, many of whose owners I know and love. I was overwhelmed by raising children during a pandemic, and what the long term implications are for them academically, emotionally, physically, and socially. Friday was hard.
I know we are not at war, but there is something that feels war-like about our current life. Perhaps it is because this pandemic is affecting the entire world, perhaps it is because we are being forced to change our lives and live on less, maybe it is because the stakes are high and we are all bracing for the possibility that we will lose someone we know. I've thought about my grandparents, having grown up in the depression and a world war. How was it that my granddad, that so many of his generation, talked about that time as though it wasn't so bad? Did they have some sort of genetic mutation that allowed them to see the world differently? Was I an entitled Xennial pitching a fit when things got hard?
I really don't think so. I read an article this week about how we are collectively grieving, and many of us may be feeling anticipatory grief for what's to come. Those among us who are highly sensitive may feel heavy with the weight of the grief of others too. I'd also add that we're experiencing complicated grief because there is no end in sight, no closure, the continued grief looms over us indefinitely like a parent whose child's murderer is never found. We don't even know what to brace for because we don't know what's coming. When I stop to compare us to "the greatest generation" I think they likely went through much the same thing. If they were human they grieved, they were afraid, and they did not know what to expect. What a terrifying time to be alive.
You know why I think my granddad said his life wasn't that bad? Because I was asking him at least six decades later about these events. Who among us hasn't romanticized our pasts, forgotten the worst parts, and/or grown to have some perspective? Heck, sometimes I forget how hard it was to have an infant, much less go to war, and it's only been five years since I've had an infant.
I don't mean to minimize the sacrifices his generation made. I don't mean to neglect the hardships of growing up in the depression or offering your very life to serve your country. Surely nearly every family was affected by adversity, catastrophe, and misfortune during those days. But what are the chances that an entire generation was somehow cut out for that type of sacrifice at the exact time there was a depression and then a war? I think they were shaped by the circumstances they were given instead of being innately prepared for them. I think they were afraid, and they did what they needed to do in that moment.
I've seen some posts on social media where people have said we need to just "think positively!" or "just turn off the news and you won't be anxious". That may be true for the authors of those posts, but it feels invalidating and dismissive to me. I don't think it's wrong that sometimes we feel scared or anxious or overwhelmed. I don't think always showing a positive attitude is genuine, or a good model to show kids healthy things to do when we don't feel our best. I don't think it's a sign that we are somehow weak or entitled to acknowledge that we are going through a really hard time. If there were ever a time to say we are anxious, wouldn't it be in the middle of a global pandemic?
I think if I had talked to my granddad in December 1941 he would have said he was scared. I think he would have said he didn't know what to do, and that he was taking it one day at a time. I imagine his five year old self didn't love helping on the farm. I think if I had talked to him when he was 8 he would have said that it sucked that his mom was sick, and it sucked that his family didn't have money and they had to wear clothes made from flour sacks. (Actually, I don't think he would have said "suck" ever because I think it was a swear word then, but the sentiment would have been the same). I think he would have complained about walking two and a half miles to school every day, and about checking rabbit traps on cold mornings. I'm pretty sure he would have complained about his mother making him return the apples he took from Mr. McKibbon's apple tree. If he didn't complain out loud, I bet he complained in his head. My granddad was amazing, but even I can admit he was human. He was an actual child who probably didn't enjoy many of the circumstances thrust upon him, and who could blame him?
I don't think my granddad's generation is called the greatest because they were positive or because they lacked fear or because they were prepared for the turmoil they faced. I think they were the greatest because they did what they needed to do, even when it was scary. They made sacrifices. They pooled resources. They showed kindness. They connected with each other.
I have also been overwhelmed by the positives, the beautiful, the good. In my community alone, I have seen massive initiatives to stay home to contain the spread of the virus. I have seen businesses voluntarily paying employees and ordering groceries for employees who they don't have enough work for. I have seen campaigns to save small businesses and to feed entire hospital departments. I have seen families sharing resources and offering to get groceries for each other. I have seen neighbors putting teddy bears in their windows so that kids can go on no-contact bear hunts. I have seen facebook posts of parents offering to show older neighbors how to navigate apps to order their groceries online, and spreadsheets of all the local service providers' venmo accounts so you can tip your favorite out-of-work hairdresser, bartender, or waitstaff. I have seen parades of teachers driving in student neighborhoods to wave and spread good cheer, and brigades of working-from-home adults working after hours to donate materials and sew cloth masks for medical personnel. These are the Rosie the Riviters among us. It is heartwarming and encouraging, cry-worthy and gorgeous. It is everything right with the world when it is so easy to be overwhelmed.
Brene Brown, who researches and writes about vulnerability and shame says that empathy "fuels connection", that it is "feeling with people", as opposed to sympathy which is feeling for people in a "bless their hearts" kind of way. She talks about the four components of empathy-
1. taking the other person's perspective
2. Withholding judgement
3. Recognizing emotion in others, and
4. Communicating that emotion.
This is what I've seen in all the kindness that I mentioned above. Thinking about what other people are going through (medical personnel, students, older adults, small business owners, etc), withholding judgement about what they should or shouldn't be doing, recognizing how hard it might be for the other person, and then working to do something about it. Would we have this level of empathy and cohesion without the collective trauma and associated fear that comes with it? The irony is that social distancing is bringing us closer together as we are collectively acknowledging our grief and working to help others.The greatest generation saw people lose jobs, businesses close, and the stock market tank. They entered into a war against a foreign enemy they did not know or understand. Lives were at stake, and people banded together to take care of each other. The world was changing faster than anyone could keep up with it. The entirety of this statement applies to us too, but we are united by more than just the circumstances.
We were not prepared. They were not prepared. We were not cut out for this. They were not either. We are afraid. So were they. They moved forward in spite of their fear, and so are we. We also have something they didn't- a great model for an inspirational generation that did amazing things when things got hard.
The new generation looks different from that of our ancestors (hello, internet!). They had the milkman delivering milk, we have instacart. They went to work, we are staying home. They went to town or church to see each other, we FaceTime. They walked to school, we have buses delivering lunches to students. They made clothes out of flour sacks, we're making masks out of leftover fabric. They respected teachers and doctors, and we're remembering how important these professionals are to us. They employed scientists to develop bombs, we're employing scientists to develop vaccines. They danced at the USO to improve morale, we're making tik tok videos and sharing them online. They had the Cold War, we're fighting a war against a cold.
It has only been two weeks, and already people have sprung to action in hospitals and homes and communities everywhere to take care of each other. We're already all those things we love about the greatest generation. Right now things suck. We're gonna say that things suck, acknowledge that they suck for others, and we're gonna hold onto each other during the suckiness. We're going to take care of each other, and sixty years from now we're going to look back on this time and hopefully remember the heroes. We might even say it wasn't that bad.
