On the Receiving End
By: Merabaid Kaur
Tags: Life, Prompt, Pandemic, Family, Mental Health

On the Receiving End

Photo by kazuend on Unsplash

This time last year I was engaged in my annual slow-burning holiday-based anxiety. This year I’d planned to be deeply involved in something, somewhere far away from the consumerist holiday culture I grew up with. I wanted peace and quiet, and most of all, I wanted to be understood rather than guilt-tripped about my holiday avoidance.

This year, I have a brand-new baby and I’ve basically gotten what I asked for. But there’s something about having a child. This is my 4th baby and every single time, I’ve craved my parents, my family, community in general during my pregnancy and the postpartum period. Making daily decisions about who to see is a three-pronged (at least) process.

My heart longs for in-person affection, faces, body language, warmth. My body longs for a chance to relax, sit back, let go, hand my newborn baby off to someone and I’ve decided to do that three times in the past 7 weeks, but only with my mom and it’s not enough. Of course, there is the part of me that is afraid of potential health risks, because of Coronavirus.

Maybe there’s also a part of me that would still rather avoid the obligatory cheer and expectation of festiveness but it’s definitely outranked by the other feelings I’m having. Outside of my household and my mom, no one else has visited. It feels a little lonely, but also necessary.

Nostalgia

This time last year was not just another holiday season for me. This year I gave birth on October 1st, last year I had a miscarriage on Sept 29th. My body and mind are going through very similar things. I wrote about my miscarriage here on Getting Unstuck After Trauma. This too is a type of trauma, even though my new baby also brings me joy.

During my miscarriage, I learned something powerful that has been much more difficult for me to enact this year. It’s also much more powerful. Last year because of the slow nature of my life I experienced an almost automatic default of receiving. I felt like a helpless infant after the loss. I had plenty of time to myself to go through the stages of grief and feel all my feels. I even had the urge to dramatically release tears, as I wrote about in How to Cry It Out.

Being able to receive is so massively important I’ve taken it as my mantra for the New Year. Being receptive does not come naturally to me. I’m more of a giver, but I’ve seen how disappointing it is when someone doesn’t accept what you want to give them, and not because they don’t want it, but because they struggle with receiving. I see this in myself, but also in my family when I try to give to them.

This year I’ve been more cognizant of my appreciation and fondness for the people in my life. I want everyone healthy and alive, of course, but because of that every little thing seems more important; every word, action, facial expression. I’ve been made painfully more aware and sometimes joyously appreciative of the fact that we are all going through many things, mentally at all times.

It’s been harder to hide during the tumult of this year. For me, the added complications of pregnancy coinciding with the pandemic has made for interesting conversations and experiences, not just with my children but even with me and my partner. I joined a parenting app for connection and learned of so many other families going through similar things.

I’ve had to be more careful of what I give and more intentional about receiving what’s being offered, from the people around me. It’s often tidbits of important feelings about themselves. It’s a subtle offer at first until we’re receptive enough to feel safe; most people offer only a little of their vulnerability at a time. I’m guilty of doing this myself, and I have to be extra vigilant to make sure I’m seeing these little offerings in my children. This period of time helped me realize the many times I missed out on what they were offering me.

when everything seems disjointed and disconnected finding points of familiarity feels like a form of therapy

Slowing down creates an opportunity to see the many things we receive without even realizing it and creates more opportunities to receive more. When we’re constantly moving, constantly doing, constantly controlling, we leave little space for things to just happen, for people to show up or for nature to provide. We have no clue what we miss out on when we’re not available or open to what has yet to become visible or perceived by us.

There’s a kind of subtle grace that has accompanied the tug-of-war some of us are going through. For me, one of my biggest struggles is receiving my own grace. If I can give myself grace, I can give myself permission to see and experience more. I feel lighter and able to receive more information around me and more help. This has created an interesting sense of calm at just the perfect moments in my decidedly complicated life.

Home Feels A Little Different

Usually, I’m not the only person in my house a little overwhelmed by the holiday season but I’ve always tried to minimize the stress. I’ve never purposely celebrated since I had my first child, I usually experience the holidays like a rollercoaster ride. I’m just there casually letting it happen around me and bracing or screaming when I feel compelled.

This year, I’m not minimizing. I don’t think anyone would call me festive, but for the first time I reached out to my family to ask about our holiday plans to participate. It wasn’t just out of curiosity or small talk. I have a tween and a teen now and I’m not annoyed about their conversations about Christmas this year. My tween wants to decorate (we’ve never done this before) and this year, I’m okay with that.

I believe we need community and ritual more than we often acknowledge, as I wrote about here. This year when everything seems disjointed and disconnected finding points of familiarity and ways to connect with people outside of immediate family feels like a form of therapy. Usually, my goal is to avoid hysteria, crowds, and the stress of expectations, but this year (at least from my standpoint) those things don’t exist, so I have no need to avoid them.

This has been a year of hunting for hope and the spaces where boundaries aren’t crossed.

For years I’ve dialed back on social media and I’ve never been very much of a cellphone enthusiast, and though I abhor sending text messages, I send them more now than I have in a while. I’m asking my mom how to do the holidays. I’m asking for basic help. I’m asking for help! This is completely outside of my norm.

My extended maternal family has a Facebook group and I’ve visited it extensively over the past few weeks. My family planned a pick-up, take-out dinner for Thanksgiving this year. My grandma created most of the food, as usual, and various family members came to my aunt’s house to pick up their plates, take a picture and go home to eat that familiar dinner we’ve shared for as long as I can remember.

I remember and long for the comfort of the holidays, the camaraderie more than the drama and stress now. There is the drama, of course, some people want to meet, as usual, some don’t show up or speak up, others go from house to house visiting with hordes of people. And many are weary of those individuals because of their actions. Some act defensive or defiant because of the changed social restraints. Those of us who can afford it, try to be accommodating and remind each other that we all have different needs.

The holidays correspond with cold weather and I’ve always seen it as a seasonal thing more than a meaning-based thing. I spent nearly 30 years of my life suffering from SAD and the last few being highly intentional about what I allow in my mind and my space. I’ve learned over the past few years how much my relationships affect my well-being and I’ve stepped back from many as a result.

But that’s because there was something to step back from, this year all my relationships have been distant, to begin with, so stepping back would be stepping into an empty space. Instead, I’ve learned I need to step up.

I need to step up and not only see how I’m affected negatively by my relationships, but how I can affect those around me as well. While I had one of my most difficult years, having the flu at the beginning of the year (or undiagnosed COVID), a difficult pregnancy all year, having a baby, and going through physical and mental postpartum challenges, I feel like I’m part of a socially distanced collective.

Not a collective of moms and the recently postpartum but a collective of humans grappling with survival and trauma. This has been a year of recognizing and acknowledging differences and needs. This has been a year of hunting for hope and the spaces where boundaries aren’t crossed.

Hopefully, this time gives us all the space for unapologetically centered ways of managing mental health, rather than trivializing it

I feel like absence has made my heart fonder for how I’ve been positively and subtly impacted by the people most important to me. I believe it has the potential to help us all realize and advocate for our needs and those around us. I know that in addition to relaxing on things that once bothered me, things that I’ve been complacent about can no longer be wished away by distractions.

Hopefully, this time gives us all the space for unapologetically centered ways of managing mental health, rather than trivializing it. Mental and physical health hinge on each other. I’ve noticed various family members and friends grappling with ways to consider and work around other's needs. Those who never spoke of mental health needs for themselves or others have learned how necessary it is to work together and perhaps how much we all need each other.

This year I’m hunting for hope when I’m usually hunting for peace and quiet. I’m hunting for the capacity to receive what’s being offered to me, by the environment, my body, and the people around me. I believe we have a unique opportunity to learn how to efficiently care for each other, our planet, and ourselves more now than ever.

I’m hoping the takeaway for this year is learning, as a collective to respect the boundaries and needs of ourselves and others. By using creative, accommodating, and loving approaches, despite differences, circumstances, beliefs, distance, and even social distancing, I think we’ll come out on the other side of this better than we were before. Cheers to resilience and receptiveness.