Well, Lent has come and gone, and so, too, has my unwavering positivity.
Despite my best efforts, it’s becoming harder and harder to find the silver linings. I have pockets of joy, obviously, but I’m growing weary of the loneliness and isolation. My family is blessed in so many ways, which makes writing about my sadness uncomfortable, but I can’t help how I feel. It started on Sunday, I guess. Easter Sunday. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and decided to take a long walk—alone—to shake it off. I’m not sure what the problem was but it probably had something to do with not being able to see family for the holiday. We were supposed to host an Easter brunch …
Anyways, I ended up sitting outside on the deck after my walk and that’s where my daughter found me a short while later. She doesn’t usually “dive deep” with me (she tends to save the heart-to-hearts for her beloved daddy), but that day she wanted to talk. She began telling me about some recent and recurring dreams. Dark dreams clouded with notes of fear, insecurity, and anxiety. Then she talked about how she self-soothes in these moments: she forces herself to “open my eyes” before something “bad” happens in her dreams, she cuddles into one small corner of her bed and then “I cover my head with a blanket,” and she makes sure when she opens one eye it can “see the glowing clock” on her night stand. Oh, and she prays to her Guardian Angels, claiming “even though I can’t see them, I know they are there.”
I simply sat there and listened. Occasionally I asked a question or two, but mostly I just stared at her and thought “when did my baby grow up?” It made me feel so sad inside listening to her talk of the darkness and how she wades into that swamp alone. She is such a strong little girl! Honestly, I’m ashamed that I rarely give her credit for that strength. I tend to get wrapped up in our day-to-day battles and lose sight of who she is deep within her soul. Sometimes I feel like the worst momma in the world. But it doesn’t do either of us any good to think that way, so let’s move on. We’ll revisit my insecurities in another post.
I know my daughter’s dreams don’t have anything to do with the coronavirus or this godforsaken quarantine we’re all living in, but it got me thinking about emotions and our reactions to them. I didn’t realize that’s where my mind was until late Sunday night, though. Over the past few weeks, Sunday has become our designated family movie night and this week it was Disney’s Inside Out. For whatever reason I’ve been wanting to watch this movie again and it seemed like the perfect time. Little did I know just how perfect. The movie is about an 11-year-old girl named Riley who moves to San Francisco from Minnesota, where she grew up and formed her special, happy, wonderful childhood memories—her “core” memories that essentially make Riley Riley. We follow Riley’s tumultuous journey through the eyes of her emotions: Joy, Sadness, Fear, Anger, and Disgust. They are who tell this story and as with all things Disney it really tugs at your heartstrings, especially if you’re a parent. I’m not going to recap the movie but it’s so cute and I wholeheartedly recommend it.
It was just what the doctor ordered for Sunday night, too, considering the mood I had been in all day. The point of the movie is that even our happiest memories carry the weight of sadness because we can’t have one without the other. But it makes this point in a positive way. It reminds us that even when our memories are steeped in sadness (or fear or anger or disgust), there’s also something beautiful and joyous and even lifesaving about them. I have so many amazing and happy memories from when I was a kid and whenever I think about them now, I am filled with this intense longing and heartache and nostalgia—in the absolute best of ways. I don’t think I could survive without those memories because they sweep me away from the hardships of today and transport me to the warm, cozy, peaceful days of yesteryear.
So, what does all this mean for where we stand today?
Well, I’ve been feeling so bad and sad for my children during this time of their lives. They’re missing out on so many wonderful things: going to school and learning; playing with their friends; traveling to places far and wide; spending time with their grandparents, aunts/uncles, cousins; being free and autonomous; just all around living life to the fullest and making happy memories to carry with them in the coming years. But then it dawned on me that just because they’re missing out on these things doesn’t mean they’re missing out. Yes, they’ve had their moments of sadness and boredom and unhappiness. But yesterday as I watched them decorate our pavers with chalk pictures of rainbows, gardens full of colorful flowers, beaches with pink sand and bright yellow suns, and dinosaurs with big white teeth (again with a bright, shiny sun!) I realized just how happy they are right here, right now in these moments. These moments surrounded by misery, melancholy, sickness, and fear. Children really know how to change your perspective, don’t they?!
More than once over these past two weeks my daughter has looked at me with a smile on her face and said, “This was the best day ever, mom.” I think she’s said it more now than in her entire six years of life and I find that immensely satisfying and inspiring. Shocking, too, since we’re not doing anything extraordinary with our days but satisfying and inspiring all the same. And so, I’m done feeling bad for these circumstances in which we find ourselves. In the long run, my children aren’t going to remember what they missed during these long weeks of isolation. They’re going to remember time spent with mom and dad and how we made the most of a difficult situation together. And even if those memories do carry some sadness—because I know they will—I’m confident the overlying happiness they’ve found here at home together will make all the difference in the world.