Hold On

This season is hard. This season is anxious. This season is blind. It’s hard. It’s hard for me not to be washed with paralysis. It’s hard not to let the tides of anxiety slip over my head and fill my lungs. The information presented to us is so uncertain right now. The hope is wavering. Optimism is indigestible, much like the food that people keep asking me to eat—to choke down—“please, for me?” they ask. 

Sometimes I catch myself driving in the car without any music on—something I’d never normally do. Sometimes I catch myself in an intensive conversation, but never hearing a word that’s been said. Sometimes I catch myself opening messages without the energy to respond. Sometimes I catch myself—literally. I stand up too fast or I breathe too slow and I begin to fall. Sometimes I catch myself. But what is there to hold onto? What do I catch myself on? What’s left for me to grasp? When I begin to stumble, or the anxiety sends me to the deep end, I reach for anything that brings me to float. 

What are the things that will make you smile regardless of circumstances? What do you hold onto? This is my list of moments and memories—of people and places—that I hold on to. When I am overwhelmed, these are the things that ground me: 

1. Madison: the little girl who I watched learn to swim this summer. She wears a tutu over her bathing suit. She’s like a baby doll to her big brothers. Her smile is contagious. Her curls are precious. 
2. Tyler is an old friend that drives me nuts, but when he laughs, I just have to do the same. 
3. The fresh flowers I received two years ago for my birthday. It was a small gesture, but I had never gotten flowers before. Thank you, Liza.
4. Pumpkin Cinnamon Kohr Brother’s ice cream. They have it only in autumn, but I look forward to indulging every year. Even when the thought of eating makes me nauseous, it’s the one thing I will always be able to stomach.
5. Laila is the barista at my favorite coffee shop. “16 oz. black?” she’ll ask. I’m a regular there, and it makes me feel important. 
6. Every Saturday morning I call my best friend. She works at her parents office and can usually be on her phone. I really appreciate our weekly check-ins. 
7. A chill breeze that occasionally dries the droplets forming on my forehead in summer heat. That breeze carries a subtle fragrance from the petunias and hydrangeas on the patio. Hydrangeas are my mom’s favorite flower.
8. I remember my whole family sitting on the deck of our Airbnb in Monatana, chatting over cheese and wine. In this moment I realized how much we’d all grown up.
9. Getting a birthday card from Kim, my favorite customer at work. I call her my “pool mom.” She gives great advice. “If I ever had a daughter, I’d pray she’d be like you” she once told me.
10. The 3×5 white board hung up in my oldest brother’s apartment. On it, he lists his goals and ambitions. Things like “3 new clients,” “vacation home for mom and dad,” “15% sales commission on an independent sale.” I love seeing him love himself enough to write down his dreams. He’s come so far. (Did that make sense?)

This is it. These are all the things that remind me life is worth the living. These things remind me that good still exists—that in 5 years when my life has completely transformed and all of my anxiety is estranged, these things will still be good. Some things will just always make you smile. Some things are eternally good. Remind yourself of that. If you feel as anxious and unsure as I do, given the pandemic and its tsunami of sequential trauma, write down a list of things that keep you afloat. 

Sometimes I catch myself feeling sad and sorry. Sometimes I catch myself pitying my very blessed life. Sometimes I catch myself hurting hard. And that’s okay! That’s okay—as long as you have something to hold onto. As long as you always catch yourself.