I can’t sleep. I have been traveling for 6 days to visit close friends and family. Like most of us, I have been desperate for connection. For family. The joy of seeing my best friend meet my baby and hugging people I haven’t seen in a year has been worth every mile on the road with an infant, toddler and teen.
But things are not normal. Nothing is normal. Nothing is going to be normal for a long time.
And I’m just so tired.
Tired of freaking out and running through lists of people I’ve seen because I got a sore throat (I’m in a house with cats AND I AM ALLERGIC TO CATS. Of course my throat is sore. Tell that to my anxiety.) I’m tired of contingency plans and the unknown. I’m tired of judgmental social media posts. I’m tired of feeling like I am failing at everything. I’m tired of the emotional roller coaster of racial injustice and atrocious news stories. I’m tired of media manipulation. I’m tired of getting whiplash from medical experts who don’t agree on anything. I’m tired of guilt and frustration and righteous indignation and hopelessness.
I’m just so tired.
Nothing feels real anymore and nobody can agree on how to get through any of it. The weight we are collectively carrying around is crushing and we are all stumbling through this the best way we know how. Apparently nobody got around to writing a guide on how to navigate racial wounds that run centuries deep while surviving the worst pandemic we’ve seen in a hundred years.
My hope at the beginning of this was that people would give each other grace. Patience. Kindness. Honesty. Instead, we’re screaming at each other about masks and how we should be using our social media presence for justice.
Guys, on a good day I’m barely surviving. Between jobs and kids and animals and a house and a church and friends and LIFE, I’m calling it a win when everybody is clean and fed.
When that’s compounded by the entire world spiraling into chaos, I know I’m not alone in saying that my head is barely above water, and some days I’m drowning. I’m sorry if I don’t have the right thing to say. If I can’t share all of the information. If I can’t get to all the protests or remember everything I’m supposed to be outraged about.
It certainly does not mean that I don’t care. It means that I simply don’t have any more words or emotional bandwidth. It means that processing this and keeping everybody alive took more than I had that day and posting a picture of my kid hopefully made somebody smile. Even if it’s just their grandmothers.
Nobody is navigating this perfectly. Nobody. Handle what you can handle, say the words that you need to say, and offer up the rest. Because when we get through this – and we will – you won’t remember the fights you got into on Instagram. What will matter is that you came out whole.