* This is a repost of a post that I wrote in the midst of the pandemic, but remains as relevant as ever.
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To say to the world is a lot right now is possibly to make one of the greatest understatements of the year. And it is only March.
The last time I remember feeling this acute sense of dislocation was during mid-pandemic. I remember months littered by broken promises to myself. Showing up mostly in body, if not in spirit. I struggled to feel energized by anything (even this, my beloved blog). I took forever to return texts or calls, if I did at all. I lived in brain fog, which sometimes gave me anxiety that I was developing dementia (like both my parents). I self-soothed with carbs with wild abandon. If I am honest, if I could have, I would have spent all of my waking hours in bed.
But I’m here.
Writing. From my bed. Still in my pyjamas. With no finely crafted insights, or playlists, or particular inspiration. No outline. Fighting a particular kind of dragging emotional and mental inertness. And desperately hoping that after this particularly COVID-fogged Groundhog Day of a month, the mere act of writing here will be a small step towards reconnecting to any speck of joy.
There is “good” news.
I am not special. Apparently, I and so many others, are languishing. Or in my own words, sitting at the bottom of a well of apathy. Or as my dear friend Stiner would say, curled up in an emotional fetal position. I can tell you exactly when this feeling became really acute - it was the weekend Doug Ford announced the new stay-at-home order in March. I didn’t realize that I had been nurturing this little ember of hope that we, Toronto, had some kind of plan to reopen - until he pissed all over it.
Languishing is the neglected middle child of mental health. It’s the void between depression and flourishing — the absence of well-being. You don’t have symptoms of mental illness, but you’re not the picture of mental health either. You’re not functioning at full capacity. Languishing dulls your motivation, disrupts your ability to focus, and triples the odds that you’ll cut back on work. It appears to be more common than major depression — and in some ways it may be a bigger risk factor for mental illness.- Adam Grant
We’ve all been going through the motions for almost a year and half now - Wake Up. Work out (or not). Eat. Work (or not). Eat. Go for a Walk. Eat. Read. Go to Bed. Wake Up. Plus or minus if you have kids and/or pets. Repeat. But this last month, those motions have been TOO. MUCH. All of it.
I have zero answers to how to crawl out of this well. But I believe I will. We all will. In the meantime, I leave you with a couple of thoughts:
- I remind myself that sometimes letting go, dropping the rope, and recalibrating my expectations of myself downwards to the smallest unit of “doing” can be my greatest act of self-love during these times.
- I am trialling the Peloton app [It is free for 30 days and then I might try Apple Fitness. It’s been a good kick in the pants to re-energize my working out.]
- I’ve started writing (in bullet points) at the end of the day 5 things for which I am grateful. I don’t think that gratitude is the antidote for languishing but it is worth paying attention to where the light IS still shining. Last night’s entry looked like:
I know we’re all feeling some degree of this lethargy. Apathy. Languishing. Whatever name you’ve given it.
So I say this to you as much as to myself:
Be super, super extra kind to yourself.
Honour any and all your efforts. Big and small. They matter. They count.
Give yourself a hug.
Give yourself some grace.
Until the next time.
