Here is a pandemic throwback that I never published but still seems relevant! I originally wrote this May 20, 2020.
Every week I talk to at least one of my clients about being present.
Staying in the present moment allows us to move out of states of depression and anxiety that keep our focus on what has happened in the past and what is going to happen in the future. As I’m sharing this with my clients, I am keenly aware that this is much easier said than done and that I too am practicing this on a daily basis.
Over the past three days of COVID-19 chaos, I have spun myself into a state of racing thoughts, sleepless nights and crying jags. Last weekend, as I sat down to write in my journal, my brain was in hyperdrive. I dropped in to being present, into listening, and into the awareness of just being. Here is my journal entry which is a beautiful example of the magic being present can bring.
Journal Entry
The last three nights have been really hard. My mind races while I sleep and I feel a constant sense of panic. Panic related to my ability to financially survive this and to my to own dear ones health and safety. It feels like this energy coursing through my body. I feel like crying most of the time and have to push it away to function. I feel a very strong urge to run away but have no where to go.
I’m struggling to tap into a flow of thought. It’s like fifty highways coming together into this nest of jumbled turnpikes and my brain cannot stay on any one highway for more than a minute or two. Every once in a while, if I stop to notice this traffic nightmare in my brain, it just goes off-road altogether and I’m blank…empty…all I hear is my breathing, my heartbeat and feel the intense buzzing in my body. Both states feel upsetting for some reason, like I’m losing it.
The tears are flowing now and I begin to get present. I can hear the birds outside and the people upstairs. I can feel the itch of my new tattoo. I can almost feel the caffeine from my soothing cup of coffee landing in my body.
I like to play the game of trying to guess what the upstairs neighbors are doing by listening very carefully. This is a well honed skill after raising four kids. My children used to really believe that I was psychic because I knew exactly what they were doing from the other room. Today, the upstairs neighbors are cleaning. I can hear the whirr of something like a swiffer moving across the floor, the clank of the oven racks being moved, the random tapping of cupboards opening and closing. It’s comforting. There are other people close by that are experiencing the same uncertainty— the same “if I just organize my environment maybe the world will feel less chaotic” feeling.
Outside the natural world carries on, unperturbed by the threat of something we can’t even see. The wind is playing with the trees and bouncing on the power lines outside my window. The birds cheerfully talk to each other and the sun keeps peaking through the clouds. Small gasps of the sunlight pour through the mini-blinds and dance on my wall.
Next to me is my favorite plant, given to me by my son. It is my favorite for many reasons but mainly because it has exploded in size under my care and, dare I say, it seems to like me. I’m pretty sure it responds to me being in the room. As I sit here writing, I can see out of the corner of my eye a singular leaf bob up and down in acknowledgment. Of what, I don’t really know but I tell myself an acknowledgement of me, of my emotions, of me just being here. I tell myself it is talking to me which makes me feel seen and not alone.
As I get present to just being in this moment, as if by magic, my racing thoughts quiet, the buzz in my body shifts to a comforting hum and I’m here. Not off in the future, forecasting about some viral apocalypse, or in the past, tumbling around in memories of fleeing and hiding from danger, just here…in this moment.