Day 1303 – Hope Begins in the Dark

4.1.20 | Day 1303
Musings + Reflections 🌻

“I heard a preacher say recently that hope is a revolutionary patience; let me add that so is being a writer. Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.”
— Anne Lamott

Yesterday Lara Frazier posted something about trauma, and how important it is as a survivor, to hold space for yourself. I commented: “Last week was… a black hole. It felt like the earth kept violently ripping itself out from under my feet, and I kept frantically trying to pick up myself and gather my feelings as all semblance of familiarity and normalcy scattered. Putting my deepest vulnerabilities (stemming in insecurity + anger) on full display, as a sore yet tender attempt to feel in control… no regrets but I was honestly scared I was potentially adding to the hurt, not helping others see it through… I’m still mixed. This stillness in the midst of a constantly evolving chaos is a lot. I think having the ability to even hold space for ourselves is an abnormally large and confusing feat right now. The important thing is we all see each other, and for me, that in and of itself provides an immense amount of comfort.”

As those words fell effortlessly fell from my brain, I realized that by inadvertently pushing those thought-to-be suppressed feelings to the forefront, and articulating them, those feelings didn’t just stop when last week ended. Then later yesterday, I saw a recent but slightly older post from January Harshe that further amplified some (sub)conscious feelings, where a rhetorical question was posed, daring us to ask ourselves, “What do I want (to do/not do during this time)?”

Our feeds are understandably flooded w/ people playing both sides of the field: those who seem to think we should be utilizing this time to do all the things, and those who think we shouldn’t do much of anything and essentially enjoy the stillness.

I’m somewhere in the middle; my internal pendulum violently flips + switches (seemingly) almost w/ every passing minute. Then it hit me…


I’m NOT holding space for myself like I ought to be, or in the ways I keep trying to convince myself that I have.

Full-disclosure, it’s increasingly difficult to hold space when it is almost impossible to think because you have two kids home. I am NOT complaining, I’m just speaking my truth as it relates to continuing to become acclimated to having a both a differently wired preteen (ADHD) and a fairly needy preschooler, who both demand and command attention in their own ways, and are essentially glued to me 24/7. And we are ALL learning. And apologizing. And forgiving. And laughing. And remembering we’ll get through this.

I’m fragile beyond recognition right now, and truth be told —though I will be fine, and I continue to be luckier than most (I’m aware of my privilege + continue to do daily recalibrations on my thinking process and perspective as a whole because *shout out to recovery*)— I continue to spiral in my anxiety, anger and fear. Being safe in my home right now though, I honestly can’t tell you what I’m angry or fearful of or why, or maybe I can, but since my thoughts are byproducts of my anxiety… It’s just a frustrating hamster wheel of inexplicable, nebulous feelings, I guess.

Psychology Today states, “Anxiety is not an emotion. It’s a particularly visceral form of emotional resistance. Even though anxiety itself can seem intolerable, our primitive brains deem it less threatening than the core emotion that triggers it in the first place. Once we’re in the grip of anxiety, there’s no chance we’ll have to experience that core emotion directly.” I believe the latter is where I’m at, and I can’t figure out how to get myself out of this turbulent current, and swim to some shore of safety.

I guess to wrap this up, Dr. Thema recently posted something that said, “Healing requires seeing ourselves with grace and compassion” and I’m not handling myself with either of those things right now. But I have recovery, and I have hope, and I will keep showing up, knowing the dawn will come. I will wait, watch and work, and I won’t give up.

For now, I listen to and hold space for myself.

Until later,

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