Hey friends,
How many weeks in a row can I write to you about our emotional lives? So many, it seems. I’ve been trying to model naming my emotions (when I see you not adhering to social distancing guidelines, it makes me anxious and annoyed) so my kids can do the same.
The other day my 7-year-old had a meltdown in my general direction because I took too much interest in what he was doing. The elder melts down many times every day - because he doesn’t want to do math, doesn’t want to clean up after himself, doesn’t want to brush his hair.
Today I had to stop him from using the kitchen shears to chop off a particularly tangled chunk of that hair. It’s shoulder length, dark blonde, streaked with highlights. I threaten to cut it if he can’t keep it brushed, but it’s so pretty I can hardly imagine following through. A hollow threat. Ineffective. Like most of my parenting these days.
When people walk by on the street and ask how you’re doing, the response is a shrugging emoji. Everyone laughs. We’re all not doing okay, we all know it. That’s the short answer.
Let’s agree to not drink bleach.
I take walks every morning because otherwise there’s not an hour in the day that is truly quiet. Kids are fighting. Someone’s crying. I have a Zoom call. Minecraft music drones in the background. We have to talk about real estate. The other day when I was out, there was riotous birdsong and an electric quality to the buds on the trees - so bright and new. I had a physical and emotional feeling of opening and unfolding, just like the trees and grasses and weeds.
I just finished reading In the Dreamhouse, a memoir about abuse. The author Carmen Maria Machado talks about the way the relationship cleaved her in two. She’d been whole, balancing the different parts of her self into one, and her abusive girlfriend changed that, forcing Machado to pick up and repair the pieces.
I keep thinking about that duality (or multiplicity) that we all hold - the parts of ourselves we love and nurture, the parts we’d rather bury. And right now, the parts of our lives that are about withdrawal, and the the parts that are about opening up. But if you asked me what was opening up for me right now - had I managed to live with loneliness, live with not knowing, find equanimity - I wouldn’t know the answer.
But I might ask myself,
When you wake up in the morning and out of nowhere comes the heartache of alienation and loneliness, could you use that as a golden opportunity? Rather than persecuting yourself or feeling that something terribly wrong is happening, right there in the moment of sadness and longing, could you relax and touch the limitless space of the human heart? -Pema Chodron, When Things Fall Apart
Really, all I want is to visit a friend in her home, have her put the kettle on and offer me tea. Lean on her counter and help myself to food from her fridge while her kids swirl by. Chat for hours, hug each other.
I want to see your face, up close, for a nice chunk of time. But we are still wearing our masks, keeping our distance. I hope we can repair these cleaved parts of our lives.
Two things I read this week that resonated:
Lean into those silver linings! And hey - I’m doing a little thing with my book where I’m selling it and matching/donating 100% of the proceeds to the Women’s Foundation of Boston’s Covid-19 rapid response fund. Let me know if you want in on that. Just reply to this email!
XO
Leigh
I am a real fan of you. ❤️