I say again, this is not a drill.
Confession: I have been to a preppers’ convention. As in, end-of-days, zombie-‘pocalypse-is-here, honest-to-goodness prepping.
And while I’d love to pretend that I was there for purely anthropological reasons, I also have to admit that I went with the seemed-normal-but-was-actually-a-sociopath jerk I was dating at the time. (Now, I certainly don’t think that all preppers are sociopathic jerks. But my anecdotal evidence leads me to believe that there’s a sub-section of folks who’ve gone well beyond preparedness into a slightly terrifying each-man-for-himself paranoia that’s rather anti-social.)
The convention — held in a sad airport Ramada — was really more an awkward meetup that cost $5 to gain entry to. It was an interesting, if slightly underwhelming, experience filled with vendors hawking everything from hydroponic gardening set-ups to 5 gallon buckets of mac & cheese to courses on field medicine for people who probably shouldn’t stitch up a sock let alone a person. Oh, and plenty of items to defend one’s safe haven: guns, pepper spray and tire spikes a plenty…
I left feeling an odd mixture of disbelief at the lengths people would go to to hedge bets against the unnamed REALLY BAD THINGS they believed might happen and an almost overwhelming fear that maybe I was naively unprepared myself. The fear lasted and grew stronger until I broke up with the jerk a few weeks later and started to regain a sense of peace about the world around me.
Joe and I are pretty pragmatic. Sure, we’ve got a plan for worst-case scenarios and know what would go into our Bug Out Bags and how quickly it would take to pack them, but the truth is that Brussels is a very comfortable and rather safe post. The things I’ve been most afraid of in the past 18 months are pickpockets and la priorité à droite. At least in our own home, detailed planning for truly terrifying scenarios seemed like it might cause more mental health harm than practical good.
And then in the past few weeks, it could no longer be denied that COVID-19 was a named REALLY BAD THING and it was coming hard and fast toward us.
Last Friday, the Belgian government enacted social restrictions including shutting schools, closing bars and restaurants, and limiting shopping. Further restrictions were announced this week and we’re being asked by both the Belgian government and our own leadership to only leave the house for critical business, groceries and medicine, urgent medical appointments, and fresh air (in the form of biking, walking or running with a maximum of one household member and at a distance of at least 1.5m from anybody else). We are, as of Wednesday at noon, essentially sheltering in place.
It was enough to freak me the eff out as I started to run through all the end times scenarios that might play out. I worried about my baby’s impending arrival and I wondered if maybe we needed more and more and more supplies. There was even a part of me that wanted to rage against the fact that I had never started growing a hydroponic garden. More than tomatoes and toilet paper though, I found myself dreading the impending isolation.
I could have spun for a long time. But then I read something that stopped me. Somebody in the recovery circles pointed out that this once-in-a-lifetime, honest-to-goodness global catastrophe is literally what we’ve been practicing for.
A few deep, centering breaths led me to realize that I’ve assembled a toolbox that will help me navigate these uncharted waters. And that maybe some of the tools I have can be shared with folks—both in recovery and not—who aren’t yet used to using them daily.
The Essentials-Only Toolbox
My toolbox has a LOT of tools in it, but these are my most essential:
#1 Live one day at a time.
It took a hell of a lot of practice for me to learn how this one worked. The early days of getting sober came with massive fear and anxiety. Some of that was simply the physiological process of alcohol leaving my system and some of that was because I had long used it to cover up scars from a traumatic childhood.
I learned quickly that I had to focus on simply getting through the day. Sometimes I had to break it down into smaller increments: the next hour, the next thirty minutes, the next breath. But with enough practice, it got easier. I stopped living in the fuzzy, scary future and found myself more grounded in the reality of today.
I haven’t yet lived through a pandemic. But I’ve gotten through some other really hard stuff by focusing on only worrying about what lies between now and bedtime. I’ve learned to trust that I don’t have to worry about tomorrow until it’s here.
This doesn’t mean I don’t plan. It simply means I don’t get caught up in panicking about a future with too many variables for me to control. I understand now that doing so is just wasting energy and keeping me from being present in the present.
Feeling overwhelmed and maybe even panicked by the indeterminate length of time we will be in this? Break. It. Down. Actively stop your thoughts when you find that you’re imagining an unknown and overwhelming future. Remind yourself that you only have to get to bedtime. And, if even that’s too much, set a timer and focus on just getting through the next hour.
#2 Prayer or meditation or some combo of the two really work.
Maybe they work because there’s something bigger than us out there. Or maybe they work because the very practice of praying or meditating calms down our nervous systems (which probably bolsters our immune system, by the way). I don’t think it actually matters why they work so much as it matters that they just do.
I used to believe that there was a right way to pray or meditate but I’ve come to learn that the only “right” way is the way that I’m willing to keep practicing. Right now, that’s some combination of guided meditation (I like the ones on the Insight Timer app), prayers from a couple of faith traditions, yoga nidra at bedtime, and random and spontaneous conversations with the being I perceive as God.
Totally new to you? Preconceived prejudices or old baggage making it hard to tap into either? We are so lucky to live in a time of an abundance of online resources (including teachers who work virtually). Try different things out until something feels good and then practice doing it again at regular intervals. But also keep in mind that what feels good today may not feel good tomorrow. It’s OK to switch it up.
Seek guidance if you’re a little lost — even if it’s just finding out from a friend what works for them. (Seriously. Some of the best prayers and meditation techniques I’ve learned have come from me getting curious and a little bit nosey about somebody else’s practice.)
#3 Don’t try to go it alone.
By the end of my drinking days, I had isolated myself more than I’d like to admit. Sure, I still went to work and saw people every day but I had let a lot of close relationships get pretty damaged through neglect. And it took a while to not only repair those existing relationships but also to learn to cultivate true connection with new people.
So I had to practice. Literally. It was suggested that I check in with others even when I felt OK so that when things got hard I was already used to picking up the damn phone and reaching out. It felt awkward at first. Especially when I was asked to reach out to five new contacts a week. But I kept hearing that my phone calls (or texts in a pinch) helped the other person just as much as they helped me.
It’s not rocket science really… how good does it feel to get a “just saying hey!” call or text from somebody and realize you’ve been on their mind? Connection matters. Perhaps even more in this time of physical distancing.
Humans are social beings. Some of us more so than others. But all of us need connection and it’s why we’re here. Just ask Brené Brown.
I’m leaning into those lessons from early on and I’ve been making a point of checking in with at least 3 people a day who I wouldn’t cross paths with otherwise (i.e. Joe doesn’t count because he’s just upstairs in the living room). Right now that looks like emails to friends on the front lines, Instagram messages to people I don’t know IRL but whose feeds give me joy or something to think about, and reaching out for FaceTime/Hangouts with the people I’m missing seeing in person. Others have been checking in with me too and it makes all of this physical isolation a little more tolerable. Especially when we share the commonalities of our currently strange existence.
Reaching out out of your comfort zone? Practice. Pick at least 1 new person a day to call (or text or email). Maybe you owe your grandma an update on your totally hopeless knitting project. Maybe you realized you actually miss your slightly annoying but rather endearing co-worker. Maybe you never fully appreciated how amazing your hairdresser is until you realized that those roots just might be here a while. The point isn’t what you say or how you say it, the point is that you made an effort to connect.
Really struggling? Look for the helpers. Whether it’s healing professionals, trained volunteers, or clergy, more and more resources are coming online. Just because you can’t meet in person doesn’t mean you can’t get good mental and spiritual health help right now.
