Even When Everyone Survives
Two days after my husband almost died, I started teaching a new online course on Zoom.
I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want to.
But I couldn’t get out of it. Everyone was expecting me to be there. It was too late to postpone, cancel, or simply not show up.
They expected me to appear on screen smiling, fully present, ready to teach them everything they had signed up to learn. To answer questions. To be engaged. To be the expert.
Mostly, they expected me to be professional.
I felt awful. I couldn’t focus. My body still shook. I hadn’t slept in days.
How could anyone expect me to show up and think about things I simply didn’t care about anymore?
I remember saying to a friend, “It feels like grief.”
But how could it be grief? Everything was going to be okay.
And yet I recognized the feeling.
I’d felt it before: the fog that descends after something terrible happens. It’s like a sheer curtain hanging over your eyes. You can still see the world, but only through a haze. Life continues around you, but you don’t care about any of it. It feels like you’re watching a movie while someone insists you step into it and keep playing your part.
There was that curtain again.
People around me were worrying about dinner, buying a new pair of shoes, or getting frustrated because the driver in front of them was going too slowly.
I couldn’t relate to any of it.
All I wanted was to crawl into bed and stay there.
I felt like I was grieving.
And yet nobody had died.
I was confused.
My friend said, “It makes sense. You’ve been through shock. Your body has been through a lot. You’re processing. It makes sense that it feels like grief.”
Then I had a thought that startled me.
You know what’s strange?
If my husband had died, no one would expect me to teach that class.
But because he only almost died, I was expected to carry on as though everything was normal.
Keep going.
You can do it.
One foot in front of the other.
It’s your job.
You’re a professional.
In that moment, I hated that this is the world we live in.
Of course, if he had died, it would have been unimaginably worse. I know that. I’ve lived through real grief before. This wasn’t the same.
But it was still traumatic. Two things can be true at once.
I taught the class.
I smiled.
I answered questions.
I responded to emails.
I gave people what they came for.
From the outside, everything looked fine.
Am I glad I got through it? Yes.
Am I proud that I pushed through? I’m not sure.
What I keep thinking about is how little room our culture makes for shock.
We seem to recognize grief only when we go to a funeral. We know what to do when someone dies. We send flowers. We cancel meetings. We make space.
But there are other moments that shake us just as deeply, moments where life almost breaks us apart before we have to stitch ourselves back together.
Trauma doesn’t wait to find out how the story ends.
Those moments deserve space too.
Even when everyone survives.
I will be out of town this week with limited internet access. I will respond to comments and/or messages as soon as I get back.
Items of Note:
I am finally ready to schedule another Creative Hour! Let’s meet Saturday, July 18, 11 am Central Standard Time. Zoom link will be sent out that week!
2. Two important workshops coming this fall
“The Compassionate Lens - Creative Self-Portraiture for Women”. This workshop starts on September 16th and is a seven weeks long. We meet once a week on Wednesdays for approx. 2.5 hours on Zoom. To read more about the course click the button below. There are only 3 seats left!
“The Layered Frame: The Art of Multiple Exposure” is a six week long workshop. We begin on October 1 and will meet weekly on Thursdays. For more info, click the button below.
You can read about all other upcoming workshops here:
I hate that you had to pretend that you were okay. All the times when we pass on the stair and say to the enquirer “I’m fine, how are you?” when we probably both want to scream. The world doesn’t stop spinning, but sometimes you want to get off.
Manuela, I don't know the students of your class personally, but if you had cancelled or postponed things under the circumstances, I think people would be very accepting and understanding. Yes, we live in a culture where people expect others to be reliable. In the aggregate, I think that's a good thing. Being reliable provides support and comfort to those around us; being unreliable is problematic in a number of ways. But at the same time, when something BIG happens, almost everybody will rally to support us. Those who don't, oh well, I can't be responsible for their lack of care. You find out who's who, too.