Rushing to Be Okay Before You Are Okay

From the time we’re young, we’re taught to find the silver lining in every cloud, to search for the lesson in every challenge. Adversity is our teacher, darkness brings light, difficulty is an opportunity. Yes, that’s all useful, but sometimes, we rush the positive narrative before we’ve allowed ourselves to feel the actual feelings … the hard ones. The lessons we construct end up replacing the actual learning and we end up with a pseudo-wellbeing that isn’t real or resilient. Not being okay, for real, is also okay, and even necessary.

I recently broke my foot two days before going on a long-awaited beach vacation. The break was a non-weight-bearing injury. I didn’t know what that meant when the ER doctor first used the term, but I soon came to understand that it meant what it sounds like it meant; you cannot put your foot down on the ground for any reason, not without risking surgery or excruciating pain. And in my case, not for six weeks. While it’s not something you think about until you need to, not being able to set your foot down for any reason is a kind of big deal; it makes life very challenging.  Essentially, with a badly broken foot, you have to just sit down and sit still. 

At this moment in history, our world is not okay; we are not okay. Oddly, however, when things are not okay, we are told that we should be okay, should be able to get okay with not okay. The should police tell us that adversity is an opportunity for growth, and within all difficulty lies a great teaching. Suffering is our guru, a gift. And yes, that may all be true. But I wonder, does our positive, spiritual narrative around life’s challenges rush us into a pseudo-well-being, a flimsy mental construct, an okayness that’s not entirely real, not earned? Is there a time and place for actually not being okay … before we get to being okay with not being okay?   

So here I was, in this adorable boardwalk beach town, a town with endless opportunities for walking and running, for exploring neighborhoods by foot, spectacular hiking, bike riding, and swimming. A town meant to be fully and physically enjoyed … and no possibility of doing any of it.  I watched as my family (with my encouragement) traipsed off to explore the sweet town and neighboring towns, stroll the boardwalks, take sunrise jogs, participate in power yoga classes (on the beach), swim in the gentle waves, laugh their way through gigantic suburban grocery store aisles, and, basically, have a whole lot of fun. 

In the grand scheme, having to sit down and sit still is not the end of the world, not the biggest deal, and certainly not even a blip on the screen when it comes to what’s happening in the world.  But, for someone like me, it is a big deal—a monumental deal in fact. Moving is a fundamental ingredient in my well-being, like breathing and eating. Strange though it may sound, I don’t think a day has passed in the last 35 years when I didn’t feel immense gratitude for being able to head out on my daily walk or run. When I was pregnant and on bed rest, I knew that I would do anything and everything in my power to never not be able to move again. I have relied on being able to move and move quickly in order to feel emotionally and physically well; it’s my fix, my go-to feel-good drug that’s served me for a lifetime. So, here I was, sitting in my seat at the beach, still as a sloth, unable to give myself what I needed to be well. 

I felt really bad about not being able to walk or run or move much at all. But I noticed that I felt almost as bad about feeling bad. Many people I talked to about the situation told me some version of the silver lining to every cloud adage, with a little “oh, what a pain” thrown in for good measure. My more spiritually-inclined friends were excited by the situation and the teachings that awaited me in this opportunity. I felt disappointment in myself for thinking that this moment was anything other than perfect, and should be any other way, and sternly told myself to accept the present moment without resistance, since that’s all there was. My family reminded me to practice the power of now, along with the power of surrender, neither one of which, apparently, I was practicing. As my body atrophied on the sofa, my mind was soaking in shoulds, the ways I should be better-experiencing this unfortunate opportunity. I chided myself with Nietzsche’s words, “He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how,” thinking about all those who had suffered before me with a purpose. I went full throttle on the self-throttling. I still felt awful about not being able to move and the timing of this injury with my long-awaited active vacation, but I felt just as terrible if not worse about the fact that I was feeling so terrible.    

But then it occurred to me that I was rushing myself to learn and feel something new and expansive in this mess, before I had actually learned it or felt it. I was demanding that I be a person who walked through this with great optimism and spiritual perspective. I realized that this idea of a hidden teaching, the “why” that made the “how” okay, and all the rest of the shoulds might just be a narrative that I was constructing. I was skipping an important step in the process, a step that needed to happen so that I could actually learn and grow, not just script the narrative of learning and growing. 

I was rushing to be okay with what was not okay, but without giving myself permission to genuinely not be okay, and not be the face of reason and hope. I had constructed a narrative about growth and opportunity before actually experiencing either one. I felt enormous pressure, most of it coming from inside myself, pressure to not be bothered, to find acceptance and peace about this situation. But I wasn’t there, not yet anyway, if I ever would be. Rather than compel myself to use this as a teaching, I had to actually let myself feel bad, feel sad, feel upset, feel angry, feel irritated, feel disappointed about this situation, this unfortunate event—to live it as I actually experienced it. I had to let the teaching teach me rather than construct a teaching that would work for my mind.

Getting okay with not okay is not about feeling good or even comfortable with what doesn’t feel good or comfortable. It’s not about manufacturing a positive lesson in a negative situation, before that lesson has actually revealed itself. It is, however, about having the courage to allow yourself to not be okay, actually not be okay, without judgment and the urgency to change it. There’s no reason to berate or shame yourself for feeling bad; bad things happen and we, sometimes, just plain have to feel bad. The feeling-bad part is a part of the process and the very part that leads to feeling good again. When you stop judging yourself for not being okay, you are indeed being okay with not being okay.

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Hitting the Pandemic Wall

How to keep going when you’re depleted and there’s no finish line in sight.

As a society, we are hitting the proverbial wall in this pandemic.  We’ve gone through the stage of being happy to clean out the closets, bake new goodies, catch up on every Netflix series we missed, or learn how to order a meal in a new language.  And, through the stage of celebrating this enforced pause, spending quality time with our kids, stepping off the hamster wheel of doing, remembering what’s most important to us, taking a break from making plans, feeling gratitude for what really matters and profound appreciation for the human capacity for kindness. 

At this point, months into the pandemic, the pies are baked, the dog is nearly dead from walking, the closets are clean, the notebooks are filled-up with gratitude lists, the kids are sufficiently hugged, the songs are sung, the pilot-light campfire is burned out, the Netflix shows have all been watched, the pots are banged, the dance parties danced, the zoom happy hours imbibed. So, what now?

There is a general malaise, hopelessness, boredom, and depression settling in on our collective psyche.  As the weather improves and summer starts to beckon, we are itching to get out and do things, fun things, new things.  We want to make plans, start living, adventuring, and imagining, but we can’t—not yet.  

We don’t know when this will end, and if it will come back again, with a vengeance.  We don’t know when a vaccine or reliably helpful drug will appear.  Or, when the grown-ups will reappear and come up with a plan to get us through this.  We don’t know when we will go back to working in offices, or safely eating in restaurants, or hugging our friends without worry.  Will summer camp happen?  Will there be a fall term in schools?  Will air travel be possible?  Will we end up being quarantined again at the end of the year?  Will we get to live a regular life again?  We don’t know the answer to all these questions and really, every question we are asking these days.  We are living with an infinite question mark.

We’ve hit the twenty-mile mark in this pandemic marathon, the stretch where we don’t know how or even if we can keep going … when it feels like we can’t go on another moment, are completely spent, empty, and all reserves have been used up. 

One thing is certain: there’s nothing novel left in this time of the Novel Coronavirus.  As we head towards the end of yet another month spent in this strange land of quarantine, how can we stay hopeful and energetic?  And can we?  From where, within ourselves, are we to dig up the strength and resilience to keep moving forward, keep being our best selves?  How do we continue to live with intention, purpose, hope, and positivity?  Are these qualities lost until this crisis is over?  And furthermore, what is our intention at this point?

To begin with, intention, purpose, hope, and possibility are not gone and not lost.  These qualities do not need to be put on hold (along with everything else) until we can take off our masks.  This stage in the pandemic, which includes our weariness, exhaustion, and despondency, along with (sometimes) flashes of hope, strength, and anticipation, is a moment to double-down on the practice of self-compassion and being present. This is a moment to welcome all of our experience, the good, bad, and ugly, and to do so with a sense of fierce loving kindness.  Now is the time to acknowledge the truth with honesty and courage, without leaving anything out or deluding ourselves.  Yes, I’m tired, sad, irritated, angry, frustrated, lonely, hopeless, bored, powerless, and whatever else I am.  And yes, I miss the life I knew and am ready for this to end.  At the very same time, now is the time to remind ourselves, with unrelenting kindness, this is what is.  This is what’s true.  I cannot change this.  And, this too shall change and pass. article continues after advertisement

This wall we’re hitting now is an opportunity to surrender and walk the ultimate spiritual path, to say yes to what’s here, without fighting, even when what we’re saying yes to is something we positively don’t want.  This is the real moment to practice being in the present moment when we don’t like the present moment and can no longer see the purpose of it.

When our life is going well, we can be the person we want to be without too much effort; our best self feels possible and doable.  So too, when we face new challenges, when things are freshly difficult, we can also find ways to be our best selves.  We create a storyline about our ability to rise up and meet life’s difficulty, to make lemonade from lemons. We tell ourselves that who we are in difficulty is who we really are.  We have all sorts of strategies for shaping our attitude and behavior in newly difficult situations.  But the real challenges arise when the hardship has been around for a while, when it has ceased to be new, obviously meaningful, or interesting.  When hardship becomes the norm, the spiritual warrior in us must awaken.  Here, in the long hallway, before the exit door has come into view, is when our real warrior self is not just wanted, but needed.  Here is where we must set the intention to attend to this moment with no past and no future attached, no months of quarantine behind it, and no plans for what lies ahead in front of it.  No next.  Here, we set an intention to say yes to just this moment and all that it contains.

We’ve moved past the novelty and fascination with this pandemic.  We’ve now taken up residence in the uncomfortable, sustained, and not obviously teachable part of this experience.  This is the stage at which we have to practice presence with renewed focus and intensity.  The more we want out, the more our mind wants to wander off to what could, should or might be, the more rigorously we must practice bringing our attention back to here where we are.  Paradoxically, our presence in this difficulty is our best protection from despair.  Now is the time to ask ourselves, again and again, what’s happening right here where I am, inside and outside of me?  And with that, who do I want to be in this very moment? 

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Just Because It’s Family Doesn’t Mean It Isn’t Toxic

We are buried in “shoulds” when it comes to what we’re supposed to do with family members who treat us badly.  We’re taught that we should feel grateful for family—no matter what. The fact that a relationship feels toxic or emotionally abusive is irrelevant; it’s family, so it’s sacred. 

Ali remembers her sister always being an angry person. After their mother died, her sister’s rage towards Ali turned up to full throttle. With their mother no longer alive, Ali became the identified enemy. In her sister’s eyes, she was guilty of something terrible. The strange thing was that she never understood her crime, never understood what she had done to make her sister treat her with such contempt and vitriol. 

Ali went on to have children and create a family of her own, as did her sister. She felt a strong desire for her children to know their cousins, to grow up with them. She also felt a desire to have a sister as she traveled through life.  And yet, each time she reached out, went near her sister, she encountered the same angry person she’d known her whole life, the same vindictive, punishing, emotional violence—all aimed at her.  Despite never knowing her original “sin” and despite time passing, families being born, people dying, her sister’s rage and negative story on her remained unchanged. 

Over the years, Ali continued reaching out, pushing herself to be her “best self,” a person she respected. She continued taking the high road. She believed too, that she should get to a place where her sister didn’t bother her anymore, where she felt only compassion for her.  But each time she reached out, she got burned.  Each interaction with her sister left her feeling icky, hurt, angry, and disrespected. Communication with her sister meant putting herself in the company of someone whose narrative of her was unrelentingly negative, and entirely out of alignment with who she knew herself to be. Initiating contact meant putting herself in harm’s way. 

After another stretch of four or five years without contact, Ali sent a friendly email expressing her wish to say hello and maybe introduce their kids who had never met. The message she received back from her sister was, once again, emotionally violent and filled with rage. In that moment, something shifted and Ali had permission, inside herself, to stop—stop being the “better” person, stop trying to feel nothing, stop trying to prove that she hadn’t done something to cause this.  Ali had reached her “enough.” The abuse had become more powerful than any of her “shoulds.”

While it wasn’t the choice she wanted to make, she decided, then, to stop interacting with her sister. It was the only choice that felt respectful and kind towards herself. Her sister’s behavior made her angry, sad, and confused, and probably always would. She might never understand why she was so filled with rage towards her, and she accepted that. But she also knew that she could no longer subject herself to the abuse. Being the “better” person now meant taking care of herself. She could not continue putting herself in harm’s way just to prove to herself that she had moved beyond all of it. The sister she wanted didn’t actually exist, that sister was just an idea. And so, she decided to remove herself from a relationship with someone who was consistently damaging to her sense of well-being. 

We hold a strong and damaging misunderstanding in this society: We believe that we are not allowed to say “no,” to draw a self-protective boundary and opt out of an unkind or emotionally abusive relationship—not when it comes to family. We’re taught that it’s not okay to say “enough”—not unless or until we can interact with someone who’s harmed us and feel completely unaffected, un-triggered. We believe that we should get to a place where we can be in relationship with someone who has mistreated us and feel okay—not enraged, not hurt, not baffled, not overwhelmed, and not just plain terrible. For some strange reason, feeling unaffected has become the litmus test for when we have done enough work to warrant ourselves the right to sign off from what feels like toxic. 

In Ali’s case, she believed (and was told by other family members) that she should stay in the relationship with her sister, “for the sake” of her kids. It was about her kids and not her. She should be willing to feel terrible so that the kids could have their imaginary relationship with their cousins. It was family, after all.

Perhaps most damaging, when it comes to saying “no” to an emotionally abusive relationship with family, is the belief that we must be partially responsible for the abuse. The idea that it takes two to tango keeps us sucking up abuse and hobbling along in relationships well past their expiration date. Before we can say “no,” we imagine that we have to figure out “our part,” how we’re to blame, responsible for creating the other’s treatment of us. If we close the door on family, there’s got to be something wrong with us we’re not addressing. 

Here’s the thing: We have the right to say “no” to what feels abusive, what hurts—even when that abuse, that hurt, comes from family. We may never get to a place where we are unaffected by someone who treated or treats us badly. Feeling unaffected is not the gauge by which to judge anything. When strong emotional pain has occurred, those emotions are stored in our body, specifically our nervous system and amygdala, the body’s emotional memory banks. The fact that the mention of someone’s name or being in someone’s company makes us feel yucky is indicative of nothing other than the fact that our body has absorbed the emotional pain we experienced, that our body has indeed lived this experience. Feeling yucky about or around this other person does not mean we haven’t done the work we need to do or that we’re to blame.

While every relationship is complicated and subjective, nonetheless, we have the right to extricate ourselves from a negative role someone has us cast in in their own internal movie.  We don’t need special permission or a secret password to resign from the part of the negative character we’ve been assigned by this other.  We don’t have to stick around in a relationship to prove we’re not the terrible person they’re committed to believing we are.  We don’t have to keep subjecting ourselves to behavior that feels abusive in order to figure out how to change it or why we’re guilty.  Because we are being treated unkindly does not mean that we are responsible for that unkindness. Sometimes unkindness is just unkindness.  

We don’t know who we will become in the future. We also can never know who someone else might become.  Still, we don’t have to wait for anything to change, or wait to feel immune to the other’s behavior, or wait to understand anything better. We don’t need to earn the right to say “yes” to being unconditionally kind to ourselves and to putting ourselves first.  Giving ourselves permission to honor and act from our truth, to take care of ourselves in the face of judgment, to let our experience be what it is and still deem it as worthy, is a profoundly empowering and healing choice.  In fact, the decision to say “no”—with our feelings as they are, with reality as it is, and without understanding anything more than we understand right now, can offer us the very freedom we are longing for and futilely searching for in the relationship itself.  The choice to say “enough” can be the change that we imagine could happen within the relationship but can actually only happen within ourselves.

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How “Should” You Do a Pandemic? Are You Falling Short?

It’s remarkable, but the feeling “I’m not doing enough” can survive and thrive even in a pandemic. Your inner-critic might be starting to kick in just about now, perhaps asking, have you been doing that fabulous yoga teacher’s classes online? Enrolling in classes through Princeton, Columbia and all the other amazing schools that are now free? How about taking advantage of the Broadway performances or Metropolitan Opera free sessions? Meditating more (since you have so much time), listening to wonderful spiritual masters, taking sound baths—happy-houring with friends? Oh, and are you tuning into the incredible musical artists giving concerts? Participating in virtual, guided walking tours through the great museums of the world? Spinning with free Peloton classes or working out with Gold’s gym? At the very least, are you cleaning every bathroom, organizing every closet, and scrubbing every floor?

With some time under our belt now in this pandemic, you may be feeling the distinct sense of a should starting to arise: you should be making use of this time, should be appreciating the little things, should be grateful, should be using this time to remember what really matters, to dive into your soul, become your best self, should be learning, growing, expanding, stretching, donating, stepping up, becoming, becoming and then becoming more… something. 

Your inner-critic, the voice in your head that says you’re not doing this right, that you should be doing this better, can indeed flourish in any environment. It can use any soil to grow its roots of self-criticism and not-enoughness.  

I myself recently wrote a piece for Psychology Today about the opportunities that avail themselves in adversity, and how we should not miss out on them when they’re here. But I’ve become aware of how the idea of making use of this moment is also at high risk for being kidnapped by our inner-critic: our inner-shoulder.

We live in a society that values acquisition—getting more, doing more, becoming more. We are supposed to go out and grab life, make use of every possibility. The more we do and accomplish, the more valid, likable, important, fabulous, and desirable we are. The more we have going on, the more we’re living life to the fullest, living the dream. The belief in the shadows of our psyche is that with enough things, experiences, and accomplishments, at last, we will be enough. At last, we will be who we should be.

But you might ask yourself (in between the online art gallery tours): if you were to finally arrive at that destination, were to finally become the person you should be, then what? Then you’ll never be criticized or blamed? Never be ashamed? Never feel inadequate? Never suffer? Then you’ll be valid, lovable, wanted? It’s worth investigating—what will this imaginary you, the you who’s done everything she should do, finally bring? What is the experience awaiting you at this elusive destination? article continues after advertisement

Your inner-critic tricks you into thinking that there is an “enough” point — a point at which you will have done everything you should do to be free from its criticism. In a voice barely audible, it whispers in the background of your mind … after that yoga class, meditation session, Met concert, class at Princeton, Peloton spin, and John Legend concert, then, you will be who you should be—then you will be someone you can like. 

This is a ruse. There is no real enough point for the inner critic. The inner-critic rejects who you are, no matter what you’ve been busy doing, acquiring, or learning. A Pelotoned, Ivy-educated, Broadway-streamed, meditated, five-language-fluent you is still you. That’s the problem—you—which doesn’t go away no matter what ingredients you add to it or fill it up with.

There’s no right way to do a pandemic. For some people, it’s exciting to be able to dip into the vast array of offerings that human ingenuity and generosity are now making possible. Other people feel as uninterested in these opportunities as they did when these events and classes cost money or were live in person. “Free opera? Let me know when they start paying you to watch,” was how one friend explained her level of interest in that particular opportunity. The point is, it doesn’t matter how many events and classes you partake in. You will not be receiving a pandemic grade, a score for how well you walked through this or took advantage of this time. How you do this pandemic need not be a commentary on your value as a person, another test of your worth. 

The real opportunity in this collective pause is not about what more you can do. It’s about whether you can walk through this experience on your own side. Don’t fall for your inner-shoulder’s premise and promise; namely, that there is a way to do, use, or experience this time that would be fabulous. There isn’t. article continues after advertisement

More than anything else, this is a moment to give yourself permission to do this pandemic however you can do it. You don’t have to get anything, learn anything, experience anything profound, change from it, become a new person from it—nothing. You just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, taking one breath and then another, making one lunch and then another, and then do it all over again. 

If you use this time for anything, use it to get off your own case, to turn away from the inner-critic that tells you that even the way you’re doing a damn pandemic is not good enough. Use this collective pause as a pause from your inner-shoulder, and an invitation to be in this however you want to and can be in it. The real opportunity here, now, is to let yourself be.

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Parenting in a Pandemic: Staying Calm Because We Have to

So, we’ve baked 1,002 brownies, made 76 LEGO castles, played 43 rounds of UNO, read seven chapters of a graphic novel, and it’s still only 10 a.m. This is not good news. After six days cooped up in the house with two children and no babysitters, I have taken to moving objects from one side of the room to the other and then back again, just because. 

It’s a strange time to be alive right now. We are all trying to manage a profound level of uncertainty and instability. Trying to keep hold of a state of peace and presence requires effort. But as parents, we don’t just have our own wellbeing to manage, we also have our children to take care of and their experience. 

We are tasked with keeping our children calm, busy, and okay at a time when our own wellbeing may not feel so steady or reliable. As parents, we don’t have the luxury of just being with ourselves and focusing on our own peace. We are trying to stay grounded while at the same time serving as our children’s parents, friends, entertainment committees, school teachers, physical trainers, and everything else. Without any of our usual structures, and any other people to help us, we are now responsible for keeping our children calm, engaged, and reasonably well. Parenting in a pandemic is not for the faint of heart. 

The most important thing to remember during this time is to put our own oxygen mask on first. We have to give ourselves and continually replenish ourselves with what we need to meet this current challenge. If we are okay, our kids will be okay. If we are shaky and unsteady, anxious and all the rest, then so they will be. Taking care of ourselves is different for each of us, but ideas to consider might be time away from our kids, even if just in the bathroom with the door shut, meditation, conversation with friends, music, playtime with our pets, silence, moving the body, and whatever else contributes to our feeling centered and well. We have to be okay—emotionally, spiritually, and mentally, so that we can be the caretakers we are now asked to become. Parenting ourselves right now is non-negotiable. 

The second thing to remember is that we don’t have to go through this alone. Even if we cannot do “in-person” playdates or go out to do things we would normally do, we can do virtual playdates, virtual parent dates, conduct groups through Zoom and other platforms, and reach out to everyone we know, through the wonder of technology. We can also make use of the countless free online activities that different organizations are offering including museum tours, courses for kids, performances, and other opportunities. As complicated as our relationship with technology is, now is a time to use it for all the possibilities it can offer, the ways it can connect us rather than disconnect us. 

Another critical guideline to follow as we go through this transition is that we must, without exception, suspend judgment of ourselves. This is the time to banish our inner critic, silence the voice in our head that tells us we should be a better parent. Now, and for the foreseeable future, when we have 16 hours a day to fill (or not fill), whatever we offer, even if it’s just the remote control or the Subway Surfer app, it has to be enough. Now is a time to remind ourselves, vigilantly, that we are doing our best, and whatever that is, it is enough. If we need to let our kid be terminally bored, watch TV for hours in a row, or just lay on the couch, because it’s all we can do to keep ourselves well, then that’s what we need to do. And here’s the thing, that’s fine. It is more important right now for us to focus on being kind and staying calm, rather than providing fantastic days of learning and fun. This is a time to let go of the idea of the perfect parent and focus on being the good enough parent. Good enough is good enough. 

Our kids are enormously resilient. We parents are too. As we move through this period of great uncertainty, we must refrain from jumping into the future, into what-if scenarios and catastrophizing. We must stay in the present moment, and forbid our mind from taking us into an imaginary future. We must practice getting okay without not knowing what’s going to happen, living one moment at a time, and finding the internal ground in the groundlessness. When we show our kids (and ourselves) that we can live with uncertainty, somewhat comfortably, we are teaching and modeling one of the most important skills our children need to be happy and well for a lifetime. We are teaching them, literally, to be resilient. 

The question we want to ask ourselves as we move through this time of change is this: Who do we want to be in this upheaval? How can we be of service and kind, even if it’s just to the little people for whom we are in charge? Being that person we want to be, for them, is as important a responsibility as we will ever meet. 

As I discuss the challenges of parenting at this time, I am also keenly aware of how blessed we are to get to be parents right now. To have another or more than one other being to take care of through this roller coaster ride is a gift. The fact that we are responsible for our children is grounding in and of itself. It requires us to stay strong and intact whether we feel that way or not, which is a good thing. As much as our children, at times, can feel disruptive to our wellbeing, they also help us stay centered and present. We are profoundly lucky to have people to wake up to and take care of, to be strong and present for. So too, our children keep us in touch with love—a force far more infinite than anything happening in our current situation. All that said, it is paramount that we stay connected with a sense of gratitude just now for getting to be responsible and strong for little ones during this time.  How lucky we really are. And so there is deep gratitude—but also, it’s incredibly hard.     

How we show up as parents through this time will impact our children for a lifetime. We are their models for how to be with difficulty. Our response now will be an important factor in how they will meet challenges like this when they’re older, which they will. Now is a time to provide our children with the seeds of grounding that later they will grow inside themselves. We keep this in mind and heart. And when we cannot be their models and have to hide in the bathroom stall and breathe deeply, then we do that, without judging ourselves, and with a lot of love for the profundity of what’s on our plate right now… just for now.

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