“I can feel the suffering of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right.” (Anne Frank)
“Aw, you had to miss your vacation because of the Corona virus? Well people are dying, so STFU.”
(not Anne Frank)
A few years back there were horrific fires in my home state of California.
Fires aren’t actually all that uncommon here, but these were especially bad – the most devastating of which (the Camp fire) killed 85 of people and displaced entire towns. It was a fire season unlike anything California had ever seen.
When these fires were burning miles away, the sky was so thick with smoke in Sacramento that we were encouraged to wear masks even inside. The air was choking, dark, and carried a general feeling of dread.
“No wonder we’re all sad,” someone said to me one day. “The particles in the air are bits of people, animals, life. We’re breathing in death and devastation.”
The darkness became all of ours – and normal. I was newly pregnant and scurrying to my ultrasounds with a mask on and my breathing shallow; we didn’t go outside if we could help it.
I found myself complaining to a friend one day, saying how I was tired of the dark sky, tired of the itchy mask, and tired of not going for walks that helped my mental health. “Me too,” she said. “And my kids are driving me crazy locked indoors.”
We continued to complain a few beats before we both felt a huge wave of guilt.
People are dead…and we’re pissy about not going outside?
Entire businesses burned, families displaced, homes destroyed…and here we are complaining about missing our evening walk for mental health?
We both stumbled over our words in embarrassment and stopped complaining…we knew we were lucky assholes, blessed with circumstances that many would trade for their loved ones back.
How dare we mourn our inconveniences when there were whole lives lost, right?
And yet…there it still was. Whether we shut down the conversation or not, a most definitive frustration, negativity, and general feeling of depression among many people who (one could say) “had no right” to feel anything but grateful they still had their life, home, job, everything.
This circumstance illustrates an issue I know many of us struggle with, especially in the time of a global pandemic and palpable crises in the air: how do we deal with our own (smaller) problems when there are big and serious things happening for others?
Are we not allowed personal grievances when there are fires, wars, and most recently – a global virus that’s putting our vulnerable at risk?
I recently saw a Facebook post that illuminated this conundrum perfectly:
“My trip to Cancun was cancelled and it was literally my first vacation in two years. Thanks a lot, Corona virus!”
The comments were filled with people both commiserating (“I have to miss Hamilton and I’m devastated!”) and also condemnation (“You’re being self-centered when there are way bigger things happening.”)
As I read the post I felt this wave of my own judgment rise up…I mean, was he really bitching about his stupid vacation when there’s an actual virus/crisis/circumstance that could quite possibly affect the health and welfare of millions around our world?
What a little turd, right?
But you guys…if I’m being completely honest, I’ve had my own “little turd” moments too. There are some “minor” inconveniences that have been making my own inner child throw a bit of a tantrum.
Cancelled plans, changes in routine, my preferred non-allergenic brand of baby wipes being out of stock.
There are things that have irked me during this pandemic that have nothing to do with the world’s serious issues and everything to do with how those issues affect ME. (And I don’t mean my health. We’re talking first world, privileged, quality problems, you guys.)
As I type this, there’s a voice in my head saying, “Don’t write about this! You’ll look like a whiny and privileged baby!”
But if I’ve learned one thing about being a human (who is sometimes a whiny baby) it’s that we’re all more similar than we are different.
I’m guessing that you’ve been having your own “little turd” moments, and I don’t think it’s because we’re bad people – in fact, it’s quite possible that you (and I) are merely humans having the human experience.
Most of these issues we’re silently huffing about don’t compare to the extreme tragedies that are happening on our planet— extremes that ALWAYS exist, whether we’re thinking about them or not.
But these small-ish, individual grievances (like being locked indoors with your insane children, having your long-awaited trip cancelled, or missing March Madness) are not made better by pretending they don’t exist.
Our issues don’t disappear because we judge ourselves (or each other) for having them.
In fact, shaming ourselves and each other for having problems that are decidedly not tragic only makes them worse.
It’s kind of like getting sick with a cold, and rather than taking some time to rest and recover, you run out the door and go on with your regular routine.
Work, errands, jogging, life: you struggle through all of this stuff with a nose full of snot and phlegm clogging up your lungs…but you just keep saying to yourself, “it’s not that serious, there are other people who are way sicker, just act normal, stop being a baby.”
The sickness doesn’t go away because you don’t “feel like” being sick right now or because it’s not “bad enough” to warrant medical attention – if anything, it grows and will likely knock you on your ass later, forcing you to take some time to recover.
This is what it’s like when we don’t acknowledge our own personal feelings—privileged or not.
They don’t go away because we “shouldn’t” have them – ignored feelings persist and likely show up in another form: like for example, going off on someone who’s bitching about their privileged problems on Facebook.
“HOW DARE HE BE SO SELFISH,” you think incredulously, shoveling Oreos in your mouth and congratulating yourself on being so enlightened. (I mean, uh, that’s not me…)
But…what if we all just allowed ourselves (and others) to feel these things?
What if instead of convincing ourselves that our problems don’t matter, we allowed ourselves to acknowledge them, grieve them, and have them…whatever it is they are?
We can allow the feeling to wash over us like we might allow ourselves to feel water running down our bodies in the shower.
“Ugh, this sucks. I’m pissy/annoyed/sad/disappointed.”
We can sit with icky feelings like we might sit with a child who’s having a tantrum.
“I’m here. Get it out. I’ll still be here when you’re done.”
This might involve writing your problems out in a journal, talking about them in a safe space, creating some pissed off art, or pummeling that punching bag in the garage. (If you choose to air them on social media, please alert me so that I can grab some popcorn. I kid, I kid – but “sitting” with problems isn’t necessarily helped by sharing them with people who could merely add to the poopiness with their judgement.)
To admit (to ourselves) that we’re pissed off or disappointed does not mean we believe our problems compare to other more serious issues.
These red-headed step-children thoughts (and the feelings they lead to) simply want acknowledgement – and by giving them that, we rid ourselves of the shame we’re piling on top of them.
I mean, how helpful are we (really) when we’re sitting in a poopy diaper of self-judgement while pointing out and judging other babies and their dirty diapers?
Amidst a backdrop of fear, uncertainty, crisis, and loss, we are all just humans doing the best we can to navigate an unprecedented experience.
Now is a time for some self (and other) compassion.
And now, more than ever, is a time to free ourselves of shame and self-judgment so that we can be of more use in our communities and the world.
We’re all in this together, guys.
Now…address that dirty diaper. Even if your preferred brand of baby wipes are out of stock.
xo
Melissa
“When we change the way we look at things, the things we look at change.” (Wayne Dyer)